


Cleaning the Kingdom

by QueenCoeurl



Series: Royalty AU [4]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Achievement Hunter Kings, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Gen, Language, Mad King Ryan, soul devouring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-26 14:33:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 38,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6243208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenCoeurl/pseuds/QueenCoeurl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan attempts to regain the reins of the Kingdom after Gavin’s rule. Rebellion is on the horizon and the people are having trouble believing that the Mad King has truly returned. Ryan struggles with Edgar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written in a different style than my usual stuff. Will jump from event to event.

_Artwork by Glowsinthedark9/Bethkerner on tumblr_

 

  Jack watched the King move between the groups of tradespeople and councillors. Ryan wasn’t wasting time with preparing for his coronation. Jack knew Ryan wanted to skip the coronation all together if it would mean the opportunity to right Gavin’s wrongs that much quicker.

 The King was itching to leave the city and begin weeding out dissenters that Gavin or Geoff could potentially call upon for aid.

 If Gavin and Geoff were going to hide from Ryan, he wanted to ensure that they felt alone and without allies; hunted by all.

Jack couldn’t help but smile as a tailor attempted to convince the king of a more modern cut; one that was fashionable and would promise a new fortuitous rule.

Ryan snapped that fashion had done nothing for the previous king except bleed him of much needed gold.

Jack was smiling but uneasy as he watched the commotion, no one needed to talk to him unless it was about security, and that gave him time to think.

 He hadn’t forgotten what Ryan had done in the prison just two days ago; and he hadn’t forgotten what Ryan had told him immediately after breaking down into maniacal laughter.

  _“You’re going to have to kill me, Jack. Too bad you won’t be able to.”_

 The words hung heavily in Jack’s mind, but he wouldn’t dare ask what Ryan had meant, and it seemed the King had forgotten about it entirely. That, or he wanted to pretend it had never happened.

Ryan spotted a young man in the crowd, “You, blacksmith’s assistant.” He called him over.

 The man came over and bowed low.

“What is the progress on the reforging of the crown?” Ryan asked him.

 The man did not leave his bow, “The crown is cast and shaped. My master is currently polishing it so that the gold will gleam brighter than the sun.”

“Good.” Ryan gave a nod and turned to Jack, “Captain Pattillo, any word on the whereabouts of my blade?”

 Jack shook his head, “Not as of yet, your Highness. Should we assume it stolen?”

Ryan frowned, “I think we must. I will seek it out before the coronation; should I have a moment’s peace.” Mentally he sent out a quick call for it, but received no response.

 He had wanted the coronation to be a small private affair, just to get to formalities out of the way. But both Gavin’s council and Jack had insisted that it be public so that the people could be confident in his leadership. Once he had agreed to that suggestion, the council had taken over the planning of the ceremony.

 He had ordered it to be a small, and most importantly, cheap ceremony, but it seemed that these people had no concept of what that meant.

 So here they all were in the Great Hall, surrounded by merchants.

Ryan was only keeping Gavin’s choice of council at Jack’s urging that they were not the ones who had run things into the ground. He claimed it was Gavin’s outright refusal to listen to hard truths that had done the damage. It wasn’t as if Ryan had been king long enough to find his own advisors, and most of those he had during his reign were dead of age or labeled traitors.

 He would be watching this council’s every move.

That information had come from Jack with another lovely tidbit that had sent Ryan reeling. Gavin’s rule had been just over twenty years long, which meant Ryan had been dead for all that time. He knew it had been years, but _twenty?_ That was far too long.

Jack and Geoff’s heirs were kept alive and young through Geoff’s power, so Ryan was happy that death seemed to have paused his own decay during that period. Returning to life only to be an old man would not have been pleasant, but it also meant he had at least one more death to look forward to.

Honestly, he didn’t care if time took him; it would be the best possible end to his reign. Unfortunately Ryan didn’t believe it to be the most probable end. Not with Ray vanished and previous kings roaming the countryside.

 At least Michael seemed trustworthy.

 The Tailor began to read out Ryan’s measurements to her assistant.

Ryan cocked his head; the measurements were off from what he remembered. Almost all of them were slightly larger, including his height.

“Could I see those measurements?” Ryan asked and was immediately handed the small notepad.

 He read them over, they were indeed wrong.

“Are you sure of these?” He inquired innocently.

 The Tailor appeared to puff up in insult, but remained civil, “I never fit a customer wrong! And aye, I would not dare to mismeasure the King. This gown will be my magnum opus! The pinnacle of my career, sire!”

Ryan was taken aback by how adamant the Tailor was, and handed the notepad back. Nodding he began to second guess his memory. He saw Jack speaking with a group of bakers and decided to get a second opinion.

 The crowd made way for the king; parting and giving him quick shallow bows in passing.

 He reached Jack, “Captain, a moment please?”

 Jack bowed his head, “What is it, your Highness?” in front of the public all formalities had to be addressed.

“Do I appear different to you?”

Jack furrowed his brow, “Do you mean:” He straightened his index fingers and brought them up on either side of his forehead in mimicry of horns.

Reflexively Ryan’s hand went to his own forehead to check on their presence. He felt nothing: the glamour was holding.

 He had replaced the earlier glamour with a stronger more intricate one. This one not only rendered them invisible but intangible as well. It was a welcome relief to have the weight off of his head.

Unfortunately this glamour required binding to an object. So now Ryan was stuck having to keep the small straw stuffed doll, given to him by a servant girl, on or near his person at all times. It was easily stowed in his robes.

Ryan shook his head, “No, I don’t mean those. I mean: do I appear larger?”

“Are you asking about your weight? Because logically, the act of recovery would have you weighing more. Since you had lost so much blood.” Jack hypothesized.

Ryan chuckled at that, “No. Although now you have me wondering just what the weight difference would have been.” Ryan shook his head, “Do I appear taller at all?”

Jack stepped back and looked Ryan over, “Now that you mention it… Yes. I believe you do. Was it another side effect of that spell?”

“I’m assuming it is. Damn Edgar.” Ryan said without real anger. It wasn’t Edgar’s fault. Geoff was the guilty party. Besides, now he technically _was_ Edgar, and he wasn’t going to be angry with himself over it.

 At the mention of Edgar a few nearby servants froze.

Ryan caught the sudden lack of movement out of the corner of his eye, and picked up a sour smell.

“What is it?” Ryan asked them and wrinkled his nose. He couldn’t place the smell, but he did remember having smelled it in the dungeons two days before. He had avoided the dungeons ever since as a method of curbing  temptation, so whether the smell still lingered there; he wouldn’t know.

“That monster was slain by King Gavin was it not? They say it’s vengeful ghost roams the catacombs. To invoke its name is to bring the Mad King’s curse upon you.” One servant quietly answered.

“Edgar roams nowhere. He was killed and his soul is,” Ryan didn’t want to launch into explanation. Not to mention he preferred the title of Mad King over Monster King, “Preoccupied.” If word got out about his appearance and how he and Edgar were now one, he’d be dealing with some less than tasteful titles. Devil King, Demon on the Throne, Beast King… He was sure there would be more.

 The Mad King’s return to the throne was still in rumour territory; most thought of him as his son; some unannounced heir, or even a crazed fool claiming the title. People only knew they shared a name, and few older citizens claimed a striking resemblance, but twenty odd years was too long for anyone to be sure.

 As for a curse; Gavin had killed Ryan before he could devise and act out some form of revenge.

 The unplaceable smell faded, and the servants bowed before returning to their duties.

Jack gave a quick smirk, “After your second reign, everybody thought everything you so much as looked at was cursed in some way. The paranoia had Gavin keep a group of mages and enchanters on call. If anyone found anything of yours or anything strange, it was investigated immediately. He even killed your horse and burned the remains.”

“Yet Edgar was a trophy.” Ryan huffed, but was pleased that he had managed to torture Gavin even in death, “If you are curious; I didn’t curse anything but my sword. I didn’t exactly foresee such an end to my rule. If I had…” He smiled, “Gavin’s reign would not have lasted nearly as long.”

Jack chuckled, “And what end do you foresee now?”

“Time, old age. Geoff can do what he wishes after that, but I will not allow him to interfere in the meantime.” Ryan said and then sighed.

“Was not the plan to kill Ramsey?” Jack asked. He was curious as to why Ryan would mention Geoff ruling again.

“It still is, but I’m flexible.” Ryan smiled, “If I can’t have his death; I will accept his incapacitation.”  

“If I may ask, what will you do in death? Seeing as you know it well.” Jack pushed, eager to satisfy curiosity.

Ryan shrugged, “Maybe I’ll haunt something or find a necromancer to pester.” He joked.

“If you did go that route, I bet the Academy would start teaching on how to avoid summoning you.” Jack remarked.

Ryan laughed, “Hey, I could be benign.”

Jack grunted in disbelief, “Maybe if they manage to impress you, but I can’t imagine you reacting to a summoning well. You despise interruption, and like serving another even less.”

Ryan shrugged in response before changing the subject, “I’m going to go and leave: do a proper search for my sword. Keep everything orderly while I’m gone.”

“So suddenly?” Jack raised his eyebrows, “They are sure to need you here.”

“My sword is more important to me than what colour rose they shall decorate the hall with.” Ryan made a dismissive wave with his hand.

“Not red.” Jack stated.

“Not red.” Ryan confirmed. He didn’t want to be thinking of Ray the whole time. It was enough that each time he looked to his journals and saw one missing he remembered being confronted by the man. The Red King would have a red end. This Ryan vowed.

Jack gave him a quick bow as he left the hall and headed to the privacy of his tower.

 The tower was a mess of belongings Ryan had ordered brought up from the labyrinth. He would need a good chunk of uninterrupted time to sort everything out. His work spaces were normally a mess, but they were his mess, and that meant he actually knew where everything was. This current disorder was just another irritation.

Ryan began rifling through large leather scrolls, partially unrolling some to see if they were the ones he needed.

 A map of the Western Isles; nope.

 The complete lineage of a now dead house; nope.

 A detailed schematic of the largest iron mine in the kingdom; also not needed, but that one he filed away separately. It would be of alchemical use.

 Finally he came across several blueprints of the castle and surrounding grounds. This was closer to what he wanted and figured he’d have use for them later. What he really needed now was a map of the city. He would settle for one of the central province.

This was assuming Geoff hadn’t taken his sword and dumped it in the End or Nether. He had probably hidden Ryan’s sword just out of reach in a nearby location. This was also assuming Gavin hadn’t grabbed the blade and taken it with them to wherever they were hiding. If his sword was hidden with them, he would have to write off ever getting it back.

Simple scrying and locating spells had confirmed that Geoff had already regained enough strength to hide himself and Gavin, but Ryan had yet to try a proper spell for locating his sword. It would be easier to locate an object infused with his own magic anyway.

 He found a map of the city and a map of the central province right next to each other and pulled them off of their shelves.

 He decided to attempt with the map of the city first. Searching a smaller area was easier even when magic was involved.

Ryan spread the map out onto a large table, making sure to orient it so the cardinal directions on the map matched those of the world.

 He only needed one more ingredient, so it was back to the pile of his belongings for another search.

After uncovering an absurd amount of redstone, Ryan finally found some salt in a medium sized pouch. Why did he have so much redstone? He couldn’t remember ever needing so much. It was a tricky mineral with many interesting properties, but its uses were pretty much limited to alchemy. That, and engineering. Non-magical practices couldn’t get enough of the stuff. The energy within redstone didn’t play nice with magic, and it had long been debated why.

Setting the pouch of salt down on the edge of the table, he grabbed a handful and summoned forth some of his own magic.

 He tossed the salt down over the map of the city. The grains scattered across its surface fairly evenly and nothing happened.

Ryan frowned; this meant that either the spell hadn’t worked or his sword wasn’t in the city. He assumed the later and grabbed the map to shake off the salt.

Happy it was clean, he rolled it up and put it aside, before laying out the map of the province.

 He took another handful of salt and repeated the spell. This time the grains skittered across the surface of the map as if the table were vibrating. Slowly the grains began to coalesce in one location. The longer Ryan allowed the spell to last the more tightly the grains bunched together over one location on the map.

Ryan let the spell die and looked to where the small pile of salt had formed.

 A river. Northeast of the city. Passed some farmland and just off of a large north travelling road.

 It was far enough that Ryan had to wonder why they hadn’t just kept it. Why ditch it after dragging it so far? It wasn’t even warded against such a simple finding spell. Did Geoff honestly take it with the intention of being a slight nuisance?

 He went back to his pile of belongings and spying a silver gleam, he spotted what he needed next. It took some work to free the item and once he did, ten others came falling forward.

Ryan groaned and decided to just leave those items as they were until he properly sorted them later.

 The silver gleam belonged to a large shallow dish. It was crafted specifically to be used as a scrying pool.

Ryan frowned when he noticed it had become scratched, but upon inspecting the delicate runes along the rim, was happy that at least those were unharmed.

Scrying unaided could only allow the viewer to see what they had seen before. A proper scrying pool would let the viewer see the whole scene. Unless of course there was some other magic at play.

 He easily conjured some water to fill the dish. Gently lifting the map, he curved it so that the salt would fall into the water.

Once the salt settled on the bottom the surface of the water became perfectly still; clearly reflecting Ryan’s face back at him.

Ryan tapped his fingers on the table as he waited for an image to form.

 The surface of the water shimmered, and suddenly colour came swirling outward before settling down into more muted natural shades. An image formed.

 A slow moving river with reeds framing it on each side became visible. The shore was mostly wooded, and Ryan could see the beginnings of fresh spring foliage. There was a small gap in the trees large enough for a merchant’s cart. Through it was a muddied path.

Ryan let the image fade. His sword was somewhere there. Somewhere in what looked to be a watering stop off the larger road.

 He sighed; what were the chances that his sword _wasn’t_ in the river? He’d honestly prefer it to be buried at this point. The river would still be coursing with fresh melt from the north. Deadly cold.

 He looked at his regal clothing. It still wasn’t tailored to him, but at least they had found him a wardrobe that fit. However, it wasn’t even remotely suited for the wilderness. Especially if he had to start searching the riverbed.

Instantly he was in his chambers and searching for his traveling clothes and leathers. If he was going to get his sword now, he had to do it quickly. Today was the first official meeting between him and his council. There were lots of laws he’d be having changed, and knew it would be a long session.

Changed into more practical gear he began to re-visualize the scene the pool had shown him. Teleporting somewhere where you had never been was always risky. You could very easily end up within an object, or entombed in stone.

 He opened his eyes when he felt the cool breeze off of the water and heard the flowing current.

 His scrying had been accurate; the area looked identical to the scene. Now where exactly was his sword?

Once more he mentally called out for his blade.

This time a response came. It felt hesitant, as if it were unsure whether it should reply.

Ryan looked out in the direction of the call. He indeed would be searching the riverbed.

 He groaned and tried to figure what in his arsenal he could use to avoid getting wet.

 The usual would be to call it directly to his hand, but after several attempts looking like an idiot with his arm out towards the river, Ryan figured he’d have to do it another way.

 His blade had always come when summoned. So the sudden disobedience had him confused.

“Alright.” Ryan muttered. Why did magic always have to be so finicky?

 He _really_ didn’t want to go into that ice cold water, but he _really_ needed his blade.

 He huffed and rubbed his hands together as he changed his stance. Feet firmly planted he summoned a strong force and pushed it forward.

 As it entered the river the water began to divert and flow around it as if a semicircular wall was being pushed forward.

Ryan pushed it forward and scanned the mud left behind for any sign of something metal.

 A glint caught his eye, and in his sudden excitement he fumbled the spell. The force with which he had been moving the water recoiled back towards him before he had a chance to catch it.

Ryan was thrown back into the mud with the full force of the river crashing back to its bank.

 He lay with his back in the muck, feeling a fool. He swore loudly before making an effort to right himself and was thankful he was alone.

 He growled and decided to just divert the water the crude way.

 He moved himself a small bit upstream and looked out over the water. He had his magic reach down through the soil until he found solid rock. He pulled the stone upwards to form a diagonal wall halfway across the river. He then pulled a second wall up parallel with the shore from the end of the first.

This forced the flow of the river to drastically divert around the area. A final third wall prevented the water from flowing back into the newly drained area.

 The metal glint that had gotten him excited before was indeed his sword. Its tip and a portion of the cross guard poked through the muck.

Ryan made his way through the mud over to it. Wiping some of the mud off he picked it up and took it back to dry land.

Using magic to clean it further he turned it over to inspect it closely. He would have to get it to a smith for a proper once-over, just to ensure it wouldn’t suffer any damage from being submerged.

 It wasn’t an item he could replace easily. He had had it forged at the height of his second reign. The enchantments he had cast directly into the molten metal and woven them throughout the entire shaping process. He hadn’t left the blacksmith’s side until the sword had been finished. Magic was as much an ingredient in the blade as steel; these were no enchantments slapped on as an afterthought.

That line of thought reminded him of the bindings and wards he had last placed on it so it would be safe for others to recklessly handle.

 He wouldn’t be needing those any longer.

Ryan grabbed the hilt and swung the sword forward as he shattered the spells smothering the blade’s enchantments.

 The instant the wards broke, electrifying pain shot up his sword arm and into his chest.

Ryan screamed as the skin on his arm split like sun dried mud, and hurried to heal it before the enchantment hurt him further.

 He looked to his sword now on the ground and felt betrayed, “You glorified piece of oversized cutlery!” He shouted at it in anger.

 He took a few moments to compose himself and let the last of the pain leave him. That had been most unpleasant and unexpected.

 Why would his own blade attack him? Surely it could recognise him?

That made Ryan stop and think. It had been hesitant in responding to him, and hadn’t come when summoned. He hadn’t wielded the blade since - well since his battle with Geoff.

 Was he not technically a new person now? He had parts of his past self, yes, and that was probably the only reason his blade had responded at all.

 The sword didn’t believe him to be he. Edgar was in the mix and it was only confusing the enchantments. It didn’t want to risk serving anyone but its master.

Ryan sighed heavily and dropped down to be seated next to his sword.

“How the fuck do I convince an inanimate object of my identity?” He stated the thought aloud as he looked at the sword.

 He didn’t have time for this. He needed his weapon.

Carefully picking up the sword he ensured to hold it so that in no way could it believe itself being wielded. Gently he placed it in its scabbard at his hip.

He’d have to find an expert in weapon enchantment and ask whether there was anything that could be done. In the meantime the sword would remain on his hip and hopefully change its opinion of who he was.

 He transported himself back to his chambers within the castle and changed out of his muddied clothes. Wearing something fit for the first meeting of the council, he grabbed his large book of notes.

 A quick flip through refreshed his memory as to exactly what he wanted discussed, but he decided to bring it anyway so that nothing was forgotten.

~*~

Jack seated himself to the right of the king’s traditional seat. The king’s hall had been repaired since Ryan’s rampage. The windows had been replaced, as had the doors and almost all of the furniture. The only remaining damage was the cracks in the marble floor in a few locations, and it was far from subtle. Flooring would take some time to repair and Jack was unwilling to spend the gold to do so with Ryan clamping down on finances.

 The first three councillors made their way into the hall. Jack had given all their names and faces to Ryan, but today would be their first interactions with him. He hoped they wouldn’t attempt to try and slip anything by Ryan. Gavin could be misdirected and reliably disregard that which he saw as too much of a nuisance to change. Ryan would not stand for it.

 The first three councillors were two women and a man. Steffie Hardy, Tina Dayton, and Trevor Collins.

Lady Steffie was castellan. She governed the castle. Without her the larders would empty, the servants would have no wages, and the whole building would crumble from neglect. There was nothing that the servants knew that she didn’t, and servants were the eyes and ears of the castle.

Lady Tina was once a sellsword. She now was a master of spies and intimately knew the skeletons in every noble’s closet. She was quick with a knife and impossible to track, but kept her skills hidden among the court. Rumours circulated of her being not just a blade for hire, but an assassin.

Lord Trevor was a shadowy figure that remained out of the public eye. Observant, amicable, and capable of having most anyone believe him their best friend. Originally a merchant from the East he had become Gavin’s Master of Taxation and Treasurer; a position that quickly had him pulling out his hair. He hoped his optimism for the new rule wouldn’t label him a traitor amongst his peers.

 The three of them seated themselves in their usual spots.

 "Could I ask about the state of the floor?“ Lord Trevor fought to tuck in his chair as the legs caught.

 Lady Steffie was the one to answer, "Apparently the handiwork of our new king.”

“He ousted Gavin with a warhammer and poor aim?” Lady Tina mused but it was mostly a joke.

Jack cleared his throat, “His Highness and the First had a fight in this hall the night Gavin was dethroned. Both are skilled wielders of the arcane and the room was collateral.”

“Must have summoned a stampede then.” Tina responded.

Jack frowned but didn’t comment.

“Rumour is our new king isn’t so new a king after all.” Steffie stated.

“Rumours would also have you believing that a man could return from the dead.” Trevor argued, “Properly and not as an undead.”

“Gavin was a braggart; maybe he never did kill his predecessor.” Steffie retorted.

“And he hasn’t aged a day? He isn’t one of the first’s heirs.” Tina pointed out.

They looked to Jack for his input.

“His Highness will tell you what he wishes. I will not speak on his behalf.” Jack said with finality.

 The doors opened once more and another two women came in to sit at the table.

Mica of house Burton. Her family long maintained the Royal library and archives, but she had decided to pursue politics instead. Intelligent and quick-witted, she worked to distance herself from her house and prove that she was worth more than her name. She scoffed at titles.

 Lady Meg Turney was the second woman. A bubbly disposition hid her ferocity. Talented in the arcane from a young age, she had attended the Academy within the city and graduated top of her class in enchanting. She was no slacker when it came to the more offensive magical practices either.

Jack was still surprised to see Meg had not fled. It was well known she had been wooing the previous king with aspirations of being queen. That was something Ryan would not just ignore, and she would have to work hard to prove her loyalty.

Either way, Jack would be watching her closely; he wouldn’t put it passed her to make an attempt on Ryan’s life.

Greetings were exchanged and then they were all seated and waiting on the king.

“So Captain, any idea what His Highness will have in store for us today?” Meg asked.

“Quite a few things, I’m sure. You will all be kept busy. I know how he governs and he will expect you all to prove your worth. The only reason any of you are still breathing is because I managed to convince him Gavin’s rule was not to be blamed on you.” Jack responded more aggressively than he probably should have, but he knew that Ryan would have them on thin ice.

That quieted the group. Jack felt bad, but he genuinely liked this particular council and would rather not see them on the end of Ryan’s blade… or worse.

 Ryan pulled out his chair and sat down at the table, causing everyone to jump and some to even curse.

Jack seemed unfazed; between him and Geoff you came to expect them at any instant. He stood and bowed as Ryan brought out some papers and began to arrange them.

 The rest of the council hurried to follow Jack’s example.

“Be seated. This meeting will be long enough without worrying about formalities.” Ryan ordered without looking away from his papers. He found what he was looking for and looked up at the group, “Jack has assured me of your competence, and as much as I’d rather a council of my own making, I will have to make do.”

Jack nodded and watched the reactions of the council, they were stunned and offended but none yet spoke. He looked at Ryan and saw that he had been successful in locating the missing sword. But why was he wearing it to a council meeting?

Ryan noticed Jack’s gaze on his sword, “I was successful in my search, but will require the consultation of a skilled enchanter before my sword is fit for battle once again.”

 Meg perked up, “I have considerable experience with enchanting. It was my area of specialization at the Academy.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow; he was skeptical she would be able to aid him, “We will have to speak later then.”

Ryan looked at his notebook and papers, “I unfortunately have not had the time to thoroughly comb all the laws created and changed in the last twenty years, and once I do so you can expect further ammendments. Today I would like to amend some of the largest legal concerns I have noticed. Primarily taxation related, but I also will reinstate the death penalty for the crimes of murder and high treason.”

“Your Highness, there has been no one sentenced to death in nearly two decades. There will be those reluctant to carry it out.” Meg pointed out.

Ryan nodded, “Indeed, and that is why even though a Lord will have power to sentence a criminal to death, the execution shall be carried out by the Crown. If a noble sentences one to death, then they must be willing to explain their judgement to me upon the criminal’s arrival.”

Jack noticed how Ryan made a conscious effort not to look at him.

“I will personally execute the convicted.” Ryan finished and still avoided Jack’s gaze.

“Am I allowed to protest this decision?” Jack’s voice was accusatory.

Ryan finally turned to him, “It is not up for debate, Jack.”

Jack frowned but nodded. He’d been scared of Ryan before, but now… This was a systematic alteration specifically to feed his… whatever it was. All Jack knew was that it was bad. Bone chillingly and gut wrenchingly bad.

“If I needed your judgement, Captain, I would have asked for it.” Ryan remarked when he saw Jack’s expression.

Ryan didn’t waste time moving on to how he wanted taxation altered. It heavily relied on taxing the nobles for all they were worth, and he was aware it would be unpopular among them. The common folk would love it though, because it kept them almost tax free unless they were particularly successful merchants.

“The nobles will revolt!” Trevor was wide-eyed, “They are displeased as it is, and such an action will have them gathering their armies. The East-”

Ryan cut him off with a wave, “The East will not rise, and I will personally deal with insurrection. I plan to visit the largest houses after my coronation. There will be no revolt from those I meet.”

“If I may be so bold, your grace,” Steffie spoke, “How can you be confident of there not being a revolt? If they gather their armies we will not have the gold to support our own.”

Ryan smirked, “Leave any revolutionaries to me. I will, however, need to know which Lords and Ladies are traitorous. Preferably _before_ they can call their banners.”

Jack’s frown deepened, “Is your plan to bleed the kingdom dry? You cannot kill everyone. A kingdom requires it’s people.”

Ryan looked back to Jack, what had the man feeling so bold?

Ryan responded, “Do you have something on your mind, Captain? Please do voice your concerns.” His voice was aggressive. Why was he so quick to anger when confronted? He hadn’t always been…

 Edgar. It was Edgar.

Ryan could smell that same sour scent again, and realised it was now coming from Jack. Jack looked afraid.

Ryan exhaled and calmed himself, “Disregard me, Jack. It has been a long, frustrating day. Your… advice has been noted. I do not seek a mass slaughter. The people are not stock to be culled.

Gavin’s rule was soft; he taught the nobles to fear no consequence, and in turn made it acceptable to bend the law and disregard rulings. I will not tolerate such a culture among my people.

 I will have order and obedience, and the only way to enforce it is to implement strict and drastic measures. If that means getting my hands bloody; you know very well I have no qualms with doing so.”

Jack settled slightly, but decided he would still confront Ryan in private. He nodded in understanding.

Ryan saw Jack calm and noticed that the sour smell faded as he did so, but it still remained faintly. Jack had been with him all the previous times he had noticed the scent, but this was the first time Ryan had been able to pinpoint Jack as the source.

Ryan continued the meeting and delved further into the specifics of what he required. He assigned them each duties and tasks he wanted taken care of as soon as possible.

 The council felt overwhelmed by the time Ryan was done.

Ryan drank some water as the council digested his orders before speaking once again, “That is the end of my extensive list for the present. Do any of you have anything to add or require clarification?”

 Mica put up a finger, “Your Highness, I do have questions.”

“Go ahead Lady Mica.” Ryan allowed.

“Many rumours circulate as to your identity. Would we your council be permitted to know the truth?” Mica asked.

 Ryan leaned back in his chair, “Yes, I am the one who holds the distasteful title of Mad King. This is my third time wearing the crown.”

“So King Gavin didn’t kill you as he said he did?” Steffie looked for clarification.

“Oh he killed me. Killed Edgar first and threw his head at my feet. I underestimated him, decided that I would toy with him further, and my confidence was my undoing.” Ryan could remember the confrontation in great detail.

“If you were dead, how-” Meg began.

“I’d like to think it was through sheer force of will and wrath.” Ryan said before she could finish the question, “Returning from the dead is no secret I’d give away lightly. It took me twenty years to figure out.” In truth Ryan had been completely unaware of the passage of time and was lucky it had been two decades and not two centuries.

Mica was in awe, “The Mad King?! I’ve read so much about your rule. To think I would have the opportunity to serve you!”

Ryan wasn’t sure how to react, “I can’t imagine those writing the accounts had many positive things to say after my death.”

“One must know how to read beyond the author’s biases, but many people were exceptionally loyal to you even years after your death.” Mica elaborated.

Ryan looked to Jack in puzzlement.

Jack gave a small smile, “Gavin wasn’t attempting flattery when he said you united the kingdom like no other. He feared those who would act in your interest; especially after your death.”

“And yet the title of Mad remains.” Ryan complained.

“I would say that among many it has become a title of endearment.” Mica argued.

“I have to agree with Lady Mica.” Tina nodded.

“Kill hundreds and earn a tyrant’s title, only for it to become one of endearment?” Jack gave a hearty laugh.

Ryan pouted, “Time dulls the past it seems. For me that’s both a boon and nuisance.”

Jack snorted, “Indeed. Most would consider the First a myth, and you a legend. It will be a hurdle to overcome.”

“Twenty years isn’t that long a time. Memory and belief are two different things. You can have memories of dreams but never believe them to be truth. Those who remember your previous reign may still have difficulty believing you to be you. As for the First, King Gavin spoke of him, but I don’t think any of us met anyone who ever claimed the title.” Trevor wanted to make things clear.

“He only claims the title when convenient, and is an apathetic drunkard rest of the time.” Ryan explained, “A waste of his potential, but I can’t blame him for having gotten bored. He could have handled it much better, however.”

“And the two of you made enemies of each other, effectively locking our two most powerful magic users in a never ending conflict.” Jack muttered.

“Oh I plan to end it, Jack.” Ryan overheard, “And I’m flattered you think of me so highly.” Ryan was happy Jack hadn’t been around to witness him fight the river and lose. That may have changed his opinion.

“It’s not flattery. You have faced the First in one on one combat and sit here today. I know of no living being capable of claiming the same.” Jack explained.

“And yet it was Gavin who bested me.” Ryan smirked.

“But through your own admission you stated it was wholly through fault of your own.” Mica pointed out, “You defeated him just fine to reclaim your throne.”

 Meg rolled her eyes at Mica declaring the throne as Ryan’s. If Gavin’s stories were true, the Mad King had no “good” side to be on. His idea of a reward for those loyal to him was to turn them into monsters or sacrifice them for blood magic.

“It doesn’t erase my death.” Ryan said solemnly.

That made Jack realize he’d never even asked Ryan what he had experienced in death. Was it something he wished to avoid out of fear and not self-preservation? Many men feared death, but they feared the unknown that came with it. If Ryan feared death, then it was because he knew exactly what it entailed.

   "If there are no further questions, I declare the council dismissed for the time being.“ Ryan stated abruptly.

They all began to stand. Meg noticed Ryan’s sword and it reminded her of his complaint.

"Your Highness,” She said with a bow, “If you are free I can examine the enchantments on your blade for you. You mentioned wishing to contact an enchanter.”

Ryan gave a nod and everyone but them and Jack left the room.

“Indeed. I admit I do not know your skill level with such matters, but it is a very advanced blade.” Ryan grabbed his sword carefully by the cross guard and laid it flat on the table.

 Jack had always been envious of the craftsmanship of the blade, but would never dare touch a weapon with such a cruel and bloody history. It felt like all of the Mad King’s bloodlust and sadism made solid and sharpened to a point.

Even Gavin had thought better of keeping it and instead had had it entombed with Ryan.

 Meg bent over to examine the blade more closely, “It requires a proper cleaning and some more oil, but I assume that is simply due to you not having the chance to care for it yet.”

 She put her hands over the weapon without touching it and closed her eyes. After a couple seconds they flew wide open and she smiled, moving close to inspect the blade once more.

“Incredible!” She gasped, “The enchantments are woven directly into the steel and not bound to it as an afterthought. The Academy has a few such items for students to appreciate, but with a sword… Well either the smith was supremely skilled in the arcane or they partnered with quite the enchanter. With this level of magic I can’t imagine one person being physically able to simultaneously cast spells and shape metal.”

“I worked with the blacksmith.” Ryan informed her.

“So this is your spellwork, then?” Meg asked.

Ryan nodded.

 Meg nodded back in understanding; that explained a lot about the blade’s properties. Such a level of enchantment was almost akin to placing one’s soul into the piece. When it was a book or armour it would generally take on the caster’s more positive attributes. The sole purpose of a weapon was to kill, and as such it would absorb those qualities that would be mostly considered bad in a person.

There were some nasty enchanted books out there, and technically a kind and loving weapon _could_ exist, but no one put so much effort into a sword with the intention of preserving life.

 Meg straightened once more, “What is the problem you seem to have with it? To me all the enchantments are working as they should. There are no wards, no bindings, and no damage to the magic within. I would definitely not want to so much as even touch that sword.”

“The enchantments are working correctly. That is not the issue I have.” Ryan crossed his arms and looked down at his sword, “It is unsure whether or not I am indeed its master. I do not have even the most remote idea how to convince it of my identity.”

Jack cocked his head and looked at Ryan, “The spell?”

Ryan shrugged, “I believe so.”

 Meg didn’t know what they were referring to, “What spell? If I may ask? The enchantments haven’t been altered or modified in any way.”

“No but a spell altered me.” Ryan explained without explaining.

“Quite the spell to alter you beyond recognition of your own magic.” Meg wasn’t sure she even wanted to know that story.

“It was.” Ryan confirmed, “Do you have any advice?”

 Meg exhaled and stepped back. She put her hands on her hips, “Honestly, It isn’t something ever explored in much detail. We’re taught it can happen, but it’s all anecdotes. Have you tried your own blood? Maybe taking it to a location of significance to both of you? It could even require time at your side to make up its mind, so to speak.”

Ryan swiftly pulled out a dagger and cut the palm of his hand.

 Meg looked to Jack, and then back to Ryan, in complete shock. The man had just split open his hand without a second’s hesitation.

Ryan held his hand above the sword’s blade until a drop of blood fell onto the steel. He then healed the injury and cleaned his dagger.

 The three of them watched the blood to see if anything would happen.

 The drop was inactive for a few moments before it spider-webbed outward over the surface of the blade in a fine vein-like pattern. It continue to spread all over the blade and down into the hilt where it seemed to be absorbed directly into the metal.

They all looked at each other, equally surprised.

“Well it did something.” Jack broke the the silence.

Ryan was hesitant to grab his sword. He reached out and hovered his hand over the hilt.

“Worried it still won’t recognise you?” Meg asked.

 "Let’s just say that the previous time it had been less than pleasant.“ Ryan responded and took a breath as he closed the distance and grabbed the hilt.

When nothing happened he exhaled and smiled. He lifted his sword and bounced the familiar weight in his hand.

"Thank the gods.” Ryan breathed in relief. He gave it a few good practice swings before sheathing it.

“Glad that worked. I could only imagine your sword’s reaction otherwise.” Meg commented.

“I will contact the castle blacksmith and let him know that your blade requires maintenance.” Jack said. He bowed and left.

“Thank you for your aid, Lady Turney.” Ryan was sure he would have figured it out on his own, but she had expedited the process.

 Meg bowed low, “My pleasure your grace.” She watched as Ryan left the room.

 The Mad King, huh? Meg thought. She smirked and wondered how well he’d stand up to the mad girlfriend. He would learn what real wrath was.

~*~

 Jack had been keeping a close eye on Ryan’s movements leading up to the coronation. From his men he had learned that Ryan had indeed returned to the dungeons, and had done so several times. Jack had ordered the guards to keep track of who went missing each time.

 Ten people. All reduced to nothing but a red stain on the floor.

 And now Ryan was out of murderers and traitors to kill.

Jack was morbidly curious as to whether Ryan would return to the dungeons once more to kill those guilty of lesser crimes, but so far he had not. Jack didn’t want to be too optimistic, but hoped this would be the end of whatever it was Ryan was doing to those people.

 It was making Ryan stronger, that much was clear, but these things always came with a price. Jack knew enough about how magic worked to know that whatever price Ryan was going to pay, it would be a large one. He just hoped that Ryan wouldn’t take the kingdom down with him.

 The coronation still managed to be quite the lavish affair even with Ryan cutting all costs he found unnecessary. Jack watched from behind the throne as the newly minted golden crown was placed upon Ryan’s brow.

Edgar’s hide and skull had been removed from the throne room and burned by Ryan. He claimed he would have buried them, but didn’t want Geoff or some necromancer using them against him ever again. They were technically his remains as well, and he couldn’t allow anyone that power over him.

 The throne itself was still in a sorry state, but for the public ceremony Ryan had cast a glamour so it would once again appear whole. He promised that it would be repaired properly once he was satisfied all of Gavin’s damage had been undone.

After the coronation was the feast. The King sat at the high table with his new crown and accepted all congratulations from those who came to him.

Jack may have drunk too much that night. His thoughts were worrisome and he wanted to have some peace. The King didn’t drink; he never drank. Claimed that he hated the taste. But Jack knew. He knew that the King had always prided himself on having clarity of thought, and he knew that Ryan feared what thoughts would come to him when drunk.

 He was thankful that he would never have to deal with an angry drunk Mad King when an angry Mad King was dangerous enough. Ryan was anything but impulsive, and seeing him act on impulse was something Jack wished to never witness. Who knew what thoughts came to him on a whim which he ultimately decided to dismiss?

 The feast went late into the night before the King decided to retire.

Fueled by the drink Jack decided that if he was ever going to confront Ryan, he should do it now. He followed Ryan out of the great hall.

Ryan was making his way back to his chambers when he heard a clatter and huff behind him.

 He turned to see his drunk captain on the stone floor in the midst of trying to return to his feet.

“Jack, are you alright?” Ryan approached to aid him. He knew Jack enjoyed the occasional drink, but this was a bit overboard.

Jack put his arm out to keep Ryan at bay, “Don’t. Don’t touch me. I’m fine.” He managed to get himself back up. His words were slurred and slow.

“Do you need someone to walk you to your chambers?” Ryan suggested.

Jack shook his head, “Ryan, we need to talk.”

“You’re in no state to talk. Get yourself to bed an-”

Jack cut Ryan off, “My state is the only reason I _can_ talk!” He paused and took a breath as Ryan looked on, “Just stop. Whatever it is you are doing. Stop!”

Ryan crossed his arms, “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Those people! You melted them! You enjoyed it!” Jack was trying to catch his thoughts. He had hoped to be more coherent.

Ryan caught on to what Jack was talking about but decided to evade it anyway, “If the issue is my enjoyment of their deaths, do I need to jog your memory as to what sports I enjoyed during my last reign?”

Jack frowned, “This… It’s not enjoyment, it’s compulsion! You’re feeding off of them! Or something! It makes you stronger.” He jabbed his finger towards Ryan.

“And what if it does? Does it matter whether they die by blade or magic? They will all die either way, so they might as well be put to use.” Ryan cocked his head, curious as to what was eating Jack. The man had seen bloodier deaths, and those far more torturous. Besides, Jack couldn’t possibly know _exactly_ what Ryan was doing.

“I’m not blind!” Jack violently swiped his hand, “It’s an addiction! You’ve changed the law specifically to feed it!” He took a second to regain balance, “I might not be versed in the arcane but I’ve been around it long enough to know that this is beyond taboo! Are you devouring souls?!”

Ryan was legitimately taken aback by Jack knowing exactly what it was, “How…?”

Jack noticed the lack of denial, “YOU EVIL BASTARD!” He hollered.

Ryan uncrossed his arms and stepped forward, “Jack,”

Jack shook his head and backed away, “Life is the realm of mortal men, but souls are eternal! You are no god!”

Ryan wanted to respond that just because he wasn’t a god, it didn’t mean he couldn’t become one, but knew that in Jack’s current state he wouldn’t take those words to be a simple boast.

Jack took Ryan’s silence as permission, “Please tell me you have not begun devouring the souls of those already dead!”

Ryan shook his head. He had toyed with the idea; there were far more dead than living, but it was too involved. It required some high level necromancy to summon and bind each individual soul, and wasn’t worth the time it would take. A soul without a body was also far less powerful; the key combination was life and soul, not one or the other.

“You need to stop before you go further down this road.” Jack looked close to tears, “You will destroy not only yourself but the world with you!”

“Jack, I am no fool, but I am already farther down this road than you could possibly imagine. It is in my control, and if I destroy anyone, it will only be myself.” Ryan argued.

“You’ve already destroyed those men and women! And if you were in control you would not have told me I would have to kill you!” Jack’s voice cracked as he shouted.

“It was a lapse in judgment, and I retract those words! They were convicted felons and I saved them from an eternity of judgment and boredom.” Ryan protested.

“You have to stop. You can justify anything, but don’t. Just stop.” Jack pleaded.

Ryan put on a stern expression, “I will not.”

 "Of course not.“ Jack gave a sad laugh, "Why would you?” He turned away, put his shoulder to the wall, and slowly left.

Ryan watched Jack stumble away with a frown. He couldn’t just stop, as much as he wanted to. He had tried, right after the first time in the dungeon he had promised himself no more.

 And that promise had been broken just four days later.

Jack didn’t understand - he _couldn’t_ understand - there was no one who could. The instant he finished devouring one poor soul his very bones ached for the life of another.

 If he didn’t devour those sentenced to death… His hunger would still have to be sated somehow, and that was what he was working to avoid. He hadn’t traveled down a road so much as get swept away by rapids. Unable to fight the current he clung to a rock.

Ryan could only hope for a steady supply, and didn’t know what he would do with himself if it ever ran out. He didn’t want to think about it.

 In the meantime he would busy himself with running a kingdom, and no one but Jack could be allowed to know of his state.

He’d already made arrangements to tour the kingdom in two days time. He had argued that simply teleporting from one Lord’s keep to the next on his lonesome would be the fastest way to do so.

Jack wouldn’t have it, and now Ryan understood why. Jack wanted Ryan supervised at all times so he wouldn’t feel comfortable enough to devour someone innocent.

Ryan sighed and shook his head. On the bright side he had argued Jack down to only having to travel with two knights of his recommendation. It would be faster than a full royal caravan but still slower than if he had just used magic.

 He entered his chambers and flopped down on a cushioned chair.

 How had he dug himself such a deep hole so quickly?

~*~

Jack’s hangover lasted long into the day. He finally felt fit to leave his bedchamber well after noon. His memory of last night hung over him like a dark cloud.

 He shouldn’t have done that. Every word out of his mouth could be called treason. He had insulted Ryan and implied him incompetent and incapable of rational thought.

This was going to be his last day breathing free air, wasn’t it?

 He still couldn’t believe that Ryan had been knowingly devouring souls. The man was no paragon of morality; not by any stretch of the imagination, but this was beyond any sin of the flesh.

 He had to warn Geoff of the monster he would be pitting himself against. But he had no idea how to do so.

 If Geoff had disappeared beyond reach of even Ryan’s magic, what chance did Jack have?

It was a shame he didn’t have the luxury of time, otherwise he’d wait until Ryan left on his tour of the kingdom. He had to act now before the Guard came for his arrest.

Getting dressed he quickly came up with a plan. The only other magic user in the castle presently was Meg. He would have to ask her assistance and hope he was correct in assuming her loyalty still lay with Gavin.

 He had fully prepared himself to commit high treason when a knock came at his door.

 He froze in fear but composed himself before answering, “Come in.”

 The door opened and a servant carrying a tray of food walked in. Following them into the room was Ryan.

Jack bowed deeply, “Your Grace.”

 "Good afternoon, Captain.“ Ryan nodded and gestured to the servant, "I thought you might appreciate some food… If you are not still too ill.”

“I had just dressed to go to the kitchens myself.” Jack laughed, “Thank you, your Grace.” He gestured for the servant to place the tray down at a table.

“What we spoke of last night.” Ryan brought up the topic and saw Jack tense. There was that sour smell again, what the hell was it?

Jack could see how Ryan had suddenly become distracted, “Is something amiss?”

“Do you not smell that?” Ryan asked and the smell faded again. It had clearly come from Jack when he had brought up last night.

“I- I’ve been ill this morning if that is what you are picking up?” Jack admitted.

Ryan shook his head, “No, no. It’s different, and has been following me of late.” He thought back. At first it had been when Jack was present, but the dungeons were filled with the stink regardless of who was there.

 He had an idea as to what it might be and decided to test it

 The servant screamed as they were lifted by an invisible force and pinned against the wall. Ryan drew his sword and threateningly placed the blade across the servant’s neck.

 The smell rolled off the servant like a thick miasma as they blabbered and begged for mercy.

“Ryan!” Jack shouted, “What is going on?!”

Ryan backed off and sheathed his sword. He gently released the servant and watched as they scrambled out of the room. Most of the smell went with them.

“What was that?!” Jack asked as he saw Ryan watch after the servant pensively.

“It’s fear, Jack.” Ryan looked back to him with a small crooked smile, “I can smell fear.”

“What?” Jack stepped back.

Ryan thought it over. Was it not common knowledge that most beasts could smell fear? Why would have Edgar been different?

“I literally smell fear, Jack. I have for a while, but now I finally realize what it is.” He explained.

Jack didn’t know what to say, “Fear? How? Is it Edgar?”

“I’m starting to wonder just how much of myself I really am.” Ryan sighed. He looked to Jack, “Regardless, I came here to speak with you, not terrify servants.”

“Yes. I wholly apologize for my words last night. They were the drink and should have never been uttered.” Jack bowed, “I seek your forgiveness but understand if you cannot give it.”

“Do not be a fool. What kind of a king would I be if I couldn’t listen to genuine concern from my most loyal friend? The truth is always harsh.”

Jack was absolutely surprised and felt bad he had been about to betray the man, “So then you agree with me? That this must stop?”

 Ryan looked away and rubbed the back of his neck, “If I could, I would. I tried long before you confronted me…”

Jack felt a pit of dread open in his stomach, “And…?”

 Ryan saw honesty as his only option, “You were correct in calling it a compulsion. It’s an insatiable need like no other, and it only grows in intensity every waking moment. If I do not feed it, I fear I will devour the next person who enters my sight. I can not lock myself away, I’m far too powerful; I’d only break free and indiscriminately satisfy the hunger.”

“And the more you _feed_ the more powerful you become.” Jack concluded. It was a horrific cycle.

 Ryan nodded.

Jack decided to be bold, “You need to find Geoff and ask his aid. He would be the only one with any chance of stopping this.”

Ryan appeared reluctant, “Yes, well, I have a strong feeling that ‘stopping this’ would necessitate my death. I’d rather not die again. Besides, I’ve done everything I know of to try and find Geoff.”

 "What if I try to contact him?“ Jack decided to risk it.

Ryan raised an eyebrow and looked at Jack with suspicion, "Do you know of a method that I do not?”

Jack quickly shook his head, “No. I simply mean that if it were me seeking him out he might be more likely to respond.”

Ryan thought it over but his suspicion did not leave him, “If you believe yourself capable, Captain, I do not see how it would be anything but beneficial.”

Jack bowed his head, “I will do my best. I will start by contacting mages in the city to see if they are willing to lend their services.”

“Keep me updated.” Ryan ordered and readied himself to leave.

“Of course, your Majesty. You will know all.” Jack gave a deep bow and watched as Ryan walked out the door.

With Ryan gone the adrenaline left Jack and he felt deflated. He couldn’t believe he had left that encounter unscathed. Ryan was not to be taken lightly, especially when loyalty was concerned. If Ryan had even slightest doubt in someone’s loyalty… it rarely ended well. He would push the individual to their breaking point to prove his suspicions in exceedingly cruel and creative ways.

 No doubt Ryan would be watching him for even the slightest hint of betrayal. Jack vowed he wouldn’t let him down.

~*~

 It was barely morning and the rain was unrelenting. Ryan, eager to leave, had made his way down to the castle grounds nice and early. He waited in a roofed area for Jack to arrive with the two knights.

Ryan was fully dressed for the weather and had his armor on as well. It was a mix of light steel plate and leathers that would be comfortable to travel in while still being an effective defense. His sword was at his hip, and the rest of the supplies would be on his horse once the stable hand brought it out.

It’s not like he needed much; as long as he knew where they were in relation to the castle he could instantly be back. But apparently him teleporting freely to and from the castle would be frowned upon by most residents. He still thought that some startled servants were a fair enough price to pay for convenience, but decided that he’d restrain himself.

 He found teleporting to be easier than ever. Previously he had used it sparingly, but now he could be wherever he wanted on a whim easier than lifting a finger. Was this how Geoff felt? It really felt wasteful to travel by horse.

Ryan looked to the sky and wished the rain would stop. The journey would be long and unpleasant otherwise.

Abruptly the downpour ceased. It was instantaneous and without warning.

“What?” Ryan asked himself under his breath. He stepped out from the roof he had been taking shelter under.

 The clouds were quickly shrinking and dissipating at unnatural speeds. It was clearly magic.

 He gazed at the sky as the sun began to shine through the breaking cloud cover. There was no way that had been coincidence, and Ryan intended to test it.

 He wasn’t sure how he’d done it, so he tried just willing it to rain.

 It worked.

 The clouds began to grow in size and darken. Within seconds the rain returned.

Ryan wore an amused smile as he stood in the rain and stared at the sky. He easily increased the intensity of the downfall and ended up brewing a storm.

 The first flash of lightning and crack of thunder made him jump in surprise as the wind howled around him.

Ryan laughed as he tried to calm his heart after being so badly startled. He stood in the torrential downpour no longer caring about becoming drenched as thunder rumbled.

 He could control the weather! This was unbelievable. Never again would the kingdom suffer drought unless he specifically willed it. Even Geoff’s reign had been victim to weather disasters. Floods, droughts, storms: all had occasionally plagued the continent.

Ryan had a devious idea. He looked to a tree at the far end of the grounds.

 A bolt of lightning dropped out of the sky and struck the tree with a deafening bang.

Ryan shrieked in an undignified manner and leapt back. He continued to back away from the charred and splintered stump blinking rapidly in a an attempt to remove the bright after image that had burned itself into his vision.

 He vigorously rubbed his eyes as the storm calmed but rain continued to fall. He was soaked through and through but was far too excited by his discovery to care.

“Your Highness!” Jack came sprinting forward followed by two knights.

“Jack!” Ryan turned towards him still blinking excessively.

“What on earth just happened? We heard an explosion and the horses scattered.” Jack was worried.

Ryan laughed and stopped the rain, “My fault entirely. I hope the horses can be rounded up once more.” He took notice of the two knights and changed the topic, “These are my travelling companions, I gather?”

 The two knights bowed deeply. One was tall and thin, draped in a crimson red cloak. The other was shorter with a strong athletic build and wore earthy tones over well worn armour.

“These men are Sir Jeremy,” Jack gestured to the shorter one, “And Sir Matt.” He gestured to the taller, “They are also know as the Vagabond Knight and Crimson Knight, respectively.

Ryan was intrigued, "I myself was called a vagabond. Many years ago when I first came to the city.”

Jack looked back down from what was now a mostly clear sky. He turned to Ryan, “What has been happening with the weather?” He was genuinely confused.

 "Mischief on my part.“ Ryan shrugged, "It’s better to travel dry, even if I’m already soaked.” He laughed.

“That’s impressive, your grace. I’ve heard there are druids and shaman that can influence the weather to come, but never the weather that is.” Matt said with muted awe.

“Seems we have the best travel companion there is.” Jeremy chuckled.

Jack wasn’t so sure, but weather manipulation was impressive and all the more worrisome.

Ryan smiled, “Hopefully your opinion doesn’t change after weeks on the road. Weariness can make irritable companions of us all.”

Three stable hands approached with a horse each. Their saddlebags were packed full of supplies.

 The knights mounted their loyal steeds and Ryan walked over to the one he was being offered.

Jack approached, “Her name is Wintermane. Hardy and strong she shouldn’t cause you trouble.”

Ryan looked the mare over. She was light brown and aside from a patch on her face the only part of her that was white was her mane.

“I will eventually need a steed of my own again.” Ryan remarked, but was happy with the choice of horse. He hopped up into the saddle.

 A shout caught all of their attention and they turned to see a messenger running towards them.

 The messenger got to them and bowed low while panting, “A message for the king!”

Ryan turned in his saddle to better face the messenger, “What is it?”

“News from the East. One of our spies has sent word and claims that three lords are are calling their banners. They seek to build an army.”

“This reeks of Narvaez. Which lords are treacherous?” Ryan inquired.

“It is believed that it is Lord Owen, Lord Sable, and Lord Garter.”

Ryan didn’t know the lords; they must be young or previously of a small house.

“Your Highness?” Jack looked to Ryan.

“We were to initially head South from the capital, but now let us head East instead. Send word to let the lords of the East know of my arrival.”

“Your Grace, If I may say; if they want you off the throne and have gathered their soldiers,” Matt began.

“Then you are making their job far easier.” Jeremy finished.

“You needn’t worry about the King’s safety. Worry about your own.” Jack then turned to Ryan, “Your Highness I would ask that you ensure your knights return alive.”

“Wait-” Jeremy looked at Jack; the whole reason he and his partner were present was to protect the king was it not?

“I assume you found me knights capable of defending themselves?” Ryan whined to Jack.

 Jack gave Ryan a quick glare and spoke to the knights, “Do not hesitate to flee should your king get you into a dire situation. The King is more than capable of fending for himself; your purpose in travelling with him is to keep him grounded.”

“Listen to the Captain. If you feel overwhelmed, remove yourself from the situation. If possible. I will survive whether you are there or not. I also have a history of returning from the dead and assume that you do not.” Ryan quickly lay down the rules.

Matt and Jeremy looked at each other in disbelief of what they were hearing.

“Let’s head off, then. The faster I take care of these lords the fewer people will be hurt.” Ryan urged his horse forward towards the gate in the outer wall, “Keep the place from crumbling while I’m gone. And if you do need me just remember how I told you to contact me.”

 The knights gave Jack a nod in farewell and followed Ryan out of the gate and into the city streets below.

Travelling through the city was easy. The Guard surrounded their steeds and cleared the road. They made fantastic time to the city wall and when they passed the Eastern gate it was all farmland beyond.

Rolling hills made up the landscape and by nightfall they had made it to an inn in a nice lightly wooded area.

 The elderly innkeeper almost dropped dead upon recognising the Mad King.

Ryan handled it well, “Don’t put yourself out, we are only staying the night. If you have any unsweetened cider I would enjoy it, otherwise just ensure our horses are tended too.

 The woman looked as if her back wasn’t going to let her out of the bow so Matt and Jeremy rushed forward to help her straighten.

 "I suggest you refrain from bowing…” Ryan watched as they got the innkeeper upright, “Sirs, pay the woman. I will be sitting by the fire.” He ordered.

 As Ryan sat down a jug of cider was placed on the table before him by what must have been the innkeeper’s grandson.

Ryan poured himself a glass and tossed a gold coin to the boy. The boy smiled and bowed before scurrying away.

Matt and Jeremy joined Ryan at his table.

“If our horses can continue at their current pace we’ll be at Fort Hot Foot in two days time. It’s a military outpost on the eastern border of the central province and once we pass will officially be in potentially hostile territory.” Ryan explained to them as they poured themselves ale.

“If I may ask; what do you plan to do once in the East?” Jeremy swallowed some ale.

“The first town should be uneventful; I don’t want to announce my presence. We just pass through. It means we will spend the night outside, but I’m fine with that.

 Next will be Cloudown, Lady Margaret Seville’s hold. She will be the first eastern noble on our trip and word of our arrival should reach her soon. Her loyalties are as of yet unknown, but I will learn them and act accordingly. Hopefully she will divulge more information about the Lords readying for open rebellion.

 The next noble will be Lord Jonathan Sable. He is one of the three traitorous lords. I will have to gauge his level of involvement with the others. Normally I’d deliver him a swift death, but I do not have the time to appoint new lordships. If he is involved due to manipulation or threat then I will be merciful and he will remain alive as long as he follows orders.” Ryan laid out the plan.

“I meant more along the lines of 'there’s three of us and they have an army’.” Jeremy clarified.

“Oh.” Ryan put down his cider, “Well there are two possibilities once we arrive at Lord Sable’s: he either will attempt to keep everything a secret and welcome us like any loyal lord, or he will see this as a perfect opportunity to ride out in force against a poorly guarded king.”

“And if it’s the second one?” Matt prompted for more information. He shared a worried look with Jeremy.

Ryan smiled crookedly and in a malicious fashion, “To be entirely honest, I hope he does decide to attack. I haven’t had a good fight in some time.”

“You’re - that’s,” Matt began.

“Mad?” Ryan finished for him and watched him pale. There was the smell of fear again.

Ryan swallowed his cider and laughed, “Think nothing of it, I know my reputation. I would just ask you avoid using the title that comes with it.” He then explained further, “Assuming he acts as any rational lord would, he probably won’t send more than a dozen men at first. If you can each take roughly two men, I can clear the rest. It might not even be necessary to take two each; some might flee.

 I will then deal with Lord Sable.”

“So as the Captain said, if we can defend ourselves we shouldn’t worry.”

Ryan nodded, “I do very much appreciate the extra sets of eyes and ears, though. Our biggest danger isn’t a marching army, but quick bladed bandits who would strike while we rest. If I see the enemy, I can secure a victory. Most spells rely on line of sight or at least an awareness of the target.”

Matt nodded in agreement, “I know a bit about casting; I attended the Academy,”

“You were expelled from the Academy.” Jeremy corrected him.

 "High level necromancy?“ Ryan was curious.

Matt shook his head, "No, nothing like that. It was enchantment. I enchanted a peer of mine. It was difficult to do too, but he was an absolute terrible person and deserved it. Made it so that no clothing would remain on him for long. Anything he wore would vanish at random unpredictable intervals. Three minutes or three months; no one had any way of knowing.” He couldn’t help but smile.

Jeremy laughed heartily.

“You successfully enchanted a living thing? A person? That’s incredible, I’ve never heard of it being done.” Ryan was impressed and very much interested, “Why not just curse them?”

Matt gave a nervous laugh, “Well curses are extremely illegal, right? I didn’t want to get revenge _that_ badly. So I figured that I could work my way around it with enchantment, but then couldn’t get my hands on an item of his that would be kept on his person.

 It took some serious work to find a way to successfully bind the magic to living flesh but I didn’t have to wait too long to learn of my success.

 I’m not going to go into technical detail, but since the living are in a constant state of flux unlike something made of metal, my spell work was brain numbingly specific. I had to include variables for everything from sodium content to blood pH to body temperature. Did you know that the amount of blood within the body can vary? I did not.” He downed his ale and poured more.

“You may be the first to ever successfully enchant the living.” Ryan informed him, “I’m considerably well read and have never seen mention of it.”

“Got me expelled, so I don’t think there will be anything written about it beyond the Academy pupil record.” Matt shrugged.

“If you are willing to recreate what you did and teach me how it was done, not only would I pay, I would request that record of yours expunged.” Ryan offered. He wasn’t interested in the nudity of his enemies but instantly saw where such an ability could be applied. What if Edgar had been enchanted so that his skin was stronger than diamond? The possibilities were astounding.

Matt was taken aback by the offer; he had never thought much of what he had done, “They burned my notes, but I guess if given enough time I could do it again. But really most effects that you could create could be much more simply done through potions.” He looked to Jeremy.

“But the problem with potions is that they can at most last only as long as they are in your body. Not to mention the prices of ingredients.” Jeremy argued.

Ryan nodded, “Unless you yourself wish to traverse the Nether.”

Jeremy nodded to Ryan, “And even then; if I were a Hell Diver, I wouldn’t use the ingredients I collect. I’d sell them and then buy the finished potions. One thing of netherwort is worth at least three of most brews. If a fair price is being charged.”

“The Nether isn’t always as dangerous as they say. There are strategies to mitigate danger.” Ryan stated, he himself knew it well having to harvest the myriad of magical ingredients only found there.

“Tell that to all the dead Hell Divers. They don’t last long in that profession, and the only reason anyone does it at all is because of the gold to be made.” Matt chuckled.

“You don’t want to know what I would do for a ghast tear.” Jeremy posed.

“Would you even have a purpose for it?” Ryan asked.

“I brew.” Jeremy admitted, “I’ve read that the restorative properties of a healing potion brewed from ghast tears is really quite something. I carry a healthy supply of ingredients and finished potions on me, but a health potion is apparently nothing compared to a potion of regeneration.”

“They each have their strengths and weaknesses. Best used together if you ask me, but only in the most dire of situations.” Ryan agreed, “I tried my hand at brewing, but most of my ingredients disappeared in the last twenty years. I hope they at least found use and were not discarded.”

“King Gavin may have been called a fool, but I’m sure even he could see the value in such items.” Jeremy reasoned.

“Except maybe netherwort. Even knowing how useful it is I still consider it absolutely vile.” Matt argued.

 Ryan smiled, “It does have the look and feel of entrails.”

 The innkeeper’s daughter came by and served them dinner. It was fresh seasoned chicken with potatoes. A simple meal but it was more than welcome after a day of travel.

They quickly finished the meal and were shown to their rooms. There were no other guests so they were able to each have a room to themselves.

 The beds were simple, with straw filled mattresses and woolen sheets. They were wide beds meant to fit several adults.

Each room also had a wash basin and simple latrine. It was far from regal accommodation, but the three men had no issues falling asleep.

  _He sat upon a throne of bone and rubble gazing out over his kingdom of dust and shadow. The indistinct hands of the dead grabbed at his clothes, skin, and hair._

_His head hung heavy under the weight of his horns and his ears were ringing with the scathing whispers of those he had killed._

_“Murderer!”_

_“Mad!”_

_“Demon!”_

_Ryan knew he was dreaming - he had to be. This was the realm of the dead and there was no way he had returned here. He was alive; the dead had no influence over him now._

_“Sorcerer!”_

_"Usurper!“_

_"SILENCE!” Ryan bellowed. He would not have the dead haunt him._

_A rotting hand lashed outward and grabbed one of his horns. It pulled him forward with unnatural strength towards its decaying face._

_“You are no master of life and death.” The corpse rasped, “You are cursed and shall beg for your end.” It began to cackle._

_Ryan’s nostrils flared in anger. He stood and tossed his head sending the corpse through the air where it broke apart._

 

_He looked at the scattered remains and stomped his foot, “And who are you to tell me so?!”_

_The cackling faded in the heavy air, and Ryan was left to angrily swipe at those hands that reached towards him. He wanted nothing more than to charge that corpse; to gore and stomp it into the dirt. And he was very aware how that was not his human side reacting._

_“I breathe! My heart beats and my blood runs warm! You sorry dead have no power over me!” Ryan declared but knew his anger came from fear, “If you continue to threaten me, I will show you what mastery of death is! I will rend your souls! Annihilate every last one of you! This plane will become a lonely one indeed.” He gave a hard forced laugh._

_The whispers went quiet and the hands of the dead stopped pulling at him._

_Ryan looked around at the sudden quiet, but saw nothing._

_“Farewell. You are no longer welcome.” Stated the voice of the corpse._

Ryan’s eyes opened as the last phrase echoed through his mind. That was no ordinary nightmare, but what was he to do now that it was over? He decided to leave it as a memory for another day. He would not allow the dead to haunt him in life.

 It was still dark so Ryan thought it best to try and get more sleep. He went to roll over and nearly twisted his neck as his head was stopped by his horns.

 He reached upwards in confusion. How had he broken his glamour?

 Had it been when he had defended himself in his dream? He couldn’t have that; if the appearance of his horns became a defensive practice he’d be in trouble. He had to be in control, and breaking his own glamour was far from a sign of stability. The horns couldn’t make themselves known at the slightest hint of a threat; that would be chaos.

Ryan sat up and the candle at his bedside ignited. He searched his pouch for the small straw doll.

Finding it, he slowly turned it over as he inspected the sigil it held. Relieved that it was undamaged he concentrated for a moment, before reaching up to feel his head once again.

This time his fingers found no horns.

 He carefully returned the doll to his pouch and exhaled.

 He really was falling apart, wasn’t he?

~*~

 "Lady Megan!“ Mica exclaimed as she saw Meg standing at a window over looking the gardens.

 Meg was startled but turned around with a smile, "Lady Mica, a pleasure.”

“I’m glad I ran into you. I heard the Captain has enlisted your aid in seeking out the first.” Mica stated.

 Meg nodded, “You heard correctly. It is however seeming to be a most futile task. If the first doesn’t wish to be found what chance does an enchanter and guard have to find him?”

“Especially after our king has already exhausted his resources.” Mica agreed, “But I was curious if I could aid you and the Captain. I may not be practiced in the arcane, but I am well read. I could also provide access to otherwise forbidden tomes.”

 Meg tilted her head, “It would be up to the Captain to decide, but I would love to have your help. If only we had access to the King’s own library.”

Mica smiled, “Who said I didn’t?”

Meg’s eyes opened wide in disbelief, “How?”

“They are rare and exceptionally valuable books. After they were carried up from the labyrinth (which actually exists!) he had me look them over for any signs of damage. They mostly needed some time in drier air, and a little love, but I can still access them.” Mica beamed, “They are however mostly in code or languages unknown, and tend to dislike divulging their knowledge.”

 Meg knew she could take advantage of this. Her previous attempts at removing Ryan while Gavin still held the crown had all failed. Traditional methods of death seemed unable to scratch the man. Maybe she could best magic with magic?

“Is something the matter Meg?” Mica noticed her lost in thought.

 Meg decided on a half truth, “Fear, Mica. I would be a fool not to fear our current king. It is well known I was close with Gavin. If I start going through Ryan’s tomes it could easily be seen as suspicious. I know he questions my loyalty as it is… Even if Gavin will never return to the throne.” She looked saddened but hid it quickly.

“My condolences, Lady Meg.” Mica felt strange comforting her over a previous king, “But if the current king feared your loyalty he would not have kept you on the council. Unless, there is something he does not know…” She looked towards Meg’s abdomen.

 Meg immediately realized what she was implying, “No! Of course not! Gavin has no heirs!” Even rumour would be enough to get her killed.

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to cause distress.” Mica looked away and then changed the subject, “Any idea on how to contact the first?”

“Finding him isn’t an option so we’ve decided he has to come to us. The First is such a mythical figure I have to run everything by Jack first to confirm whether it is fact.” Meg looked frustrated, “So far what we have is: likes wine, is immortal, built the kingdom.”

Mica frowned in sympathy, “If he’s been around for so long, there has to be something… If it would be possible to send a message…” Her eyes widened as she remembered something she had read, “Of course! If he’s so old he’s guaranteed to know early magic!”

“You mean the shamanic practices?” Meg wasn’t sure why that would be exciting.

“I have to go look it up but it’s said they could carry their words on the wind as whispers through the trees and grass.” Mica explained, “But no where is there mention of how to do it. It’s just said that they could do it.”

Meg’s expression became cautiously hopeful, “We need to find a shaman, or whatever they call themselves now.”

“They won’t be near the city.” Mica stated, “Maybe if we find a knowledgeable witch, she could point us in the right direction. Witches come across lots of things in the wilderness while they gather ingredients for their brews.”

“Are there any witches in the city?” Meg asked.

Mica shrugged, “They tend to prefer swampy and marsh areas due to their practice, but maybe one has set up shop as an apothecary?”

“I’m going to get the Captain. You go and find whether there are any registered apothecaries that are run by a woman. We’ll have to just ask each one if they are a witch, and hope they don’t have a reason to lie about it.”

“I’m on it.” Mica made haste towards the archives.

 

 It took a full day and a half to find a witch, and then the rest of the day was spent convincing her they meant no harm and were only seeking the services of a shaman. A pouch full of gold and full day later, Jack, Meg, and Mica were out in the jungle south of the city searching for their shaman.

 Meg and Jack were both outfitted in armour. Jack’s was enchanted steel plate that was well polished and maintained. Meg’s armour was mostly leather and dull green; clearly meant for hunting and not war like Jack’s.

Mica had never had need of armour previously, so she wore her riding leathers and some chain mail Jack had found in her size.

 The jungle was a temperate one; they hadn’t travelled far enough south to hit the tropics, but it was still too overgrown for mounts of any kind.

They did their best to follow the landmarks they had been told, but in the end it was the shaman that found them.

 The shaman was amused that they had taken the trouble to come from the capital and graciously took them back to his home.

 The structure was fairly small and strung up between several redwood trees. It was mostly rope walkways and uncovered platforms, but there was a small roofed area for sleep and storage.

 He welcomed the three of them to his home as they climbed over the top of the ladder. Jack’s armour had made it difficult and once inside he found the slight swaying of the whole structure anxiety inducing.

They seated themselves under the cramped roofed area as the shaman prepared a cooling herbal brew for his guests.

Jack eagerly accepted a mug of the brew. His armour had become a sauna after the climb.

 The brew was mostly unidentifiable in taste but it did clearly contain mint and some sort of root vegetable. It really was refreshing and they were eager to refill their mugs.

 The shaman sat down and placed his hands on his bare knees, “You said you required my help in something?”

 Meg looked to Mica who put down her mug and nodded, “Yes. Do you know anything about wind whispers? Sending messages through the trees and grass?”

 The shaman nodded pensively, “Old magic, that. The world is always speaking to us, we just need to learn to listen. I could teach, but it would take many years before you would fully understand what it has to say.”

Jack was quick to clarify, “What about sending a message this way? So that it would travel across the kingdom and be heard by whomever is listening?”

 The shaman thought about it, “Possible, but difficult. It will depend on the message as well as take days to find the recipient.”

“We just need our recipient to hear it.” Jack stated.

“I assume they would be fluent in the language?” The shaman asked.

“We hope he is. It’s a bit of a guess on our part.” Meg answered.

“We’re trying to get a message out to the First King, the immortal, kingdom builder, and slayer of the Wither.” Mica listed all the titles she could remember, except for one. She wasn’t about to call him the One True King, not only was it treachery, but she didn’t believe it true.

 The shaman leaned back and exhaled slowly, “I have never heard of such a thing being done. The First is old, yes, and must surely know ancient magic that has been lost to us mortal men.” He paused, “But he has no obligation to respond, you understand?”

 Jack spoke before the others could argue, “The Mad King sits on the throne.” He hated that title but it was useful in having others immediately know who he spoke of, “We seek the aid of the First; consider it a call for help. To let him know of the dire danger his people are in.”

 The shaman stood and shook his head, “I do not know what sorcery that madman wields but his being alive has disrupted the natural order. The living are afraid and the dead are furious. Someone like the First will already know this, and someone like the Mad King… He is an abomination that revels in destruction.

 The First knows the Mad King sits on the throne once more, just as the very trees and stones do. The cries of help from the kingdom are louder to him than any message you could send.”

Jack rubbed his face; this was the problem with dealing with those who didn’t personally know Geoff. They treated him like some sort of spirit or god, “Just, okay, I get it. I know he knows. I just need to ask him to help with something, alright? I need his aid on behalf of the Mad King; aid the Mad King would never ask for no matter how much it was needed.” Jack was struggling with conveying importance without divulging the whole 'soul devouring’ development.

 The shaman appeared curious as he poured them the last of the cooling brew, “Does the Mad King seek absolution? Redemption?”

Jack immediately grabbed on to that, “Yes. Something along those lines.”

“Then he should be told that there is none.” The shaman sat back down, “If you only knew of the anger the spirits hold towards him.”

Jack sighed in frustration, “Let the First decide for himself whether The Mad King is a lost cause.” He really hoped Ryan wasn’t.

 The shaman frowned, “I will send your call for aid as you request, but do not expect it to have any effect, sir. The First rarely meddles in mortal affairs since losing the throne.”

Jack just wanted to scream at this point; he wasn’t some ignorant noble seeking a myth. He was Geoff’s right hand, best friend, and a mortal man that Geoff’s power had kept alive for almost two centuries.

 Meg immediately sensed Jack’s frustration, “Captain Jack has met the First personally before. If he seeks his aid, the First will lend him his ear.”

 One hell of an understatement, Jack thought and fought not to cross his arms. And more importantly, why didn’t any of the lore ever mention him? How was he nearly two centuries old and unknown? Ryan had certainly made quite the name for himself quickly. The heirs were all well known too. Was it because Jack had never held the throne? He had no desire to do so, especially after watching everyone’s decline and eventual fall. Ryan was a bit of an extreme case, but even the heirs fared poorly after too much time wearing the crown.

Mica watched as Jack seemed to brood, “We just need the message sent. Whatever then happens, or doesn’t happen, is of no worry to you.” She told the shaman.

 The shaman seemed convinced, but then hesitated, “And what if the Mad King hears and understands the message?”

Jack wasn’t about to tell him he had Ryan’s permission and how he was certain Ryan only wanted Geoff’s 'help’ in order to get him out of hiding.

Besides, Jack was like 80% sure Ryan never bothered with shamanic practices. It wasn’t like he needed to; animals loved the man regardless. So much so Ryan considered it a nuisance, and no matter his actions bird and beast were drawn to him.

Jack decided to answer, “The Mad King doesn’t care for the knowledge of the ancients unless it can be used to kill or further his agenda.”

“That I can believe, but just in case I do not wish to attach my name. If that is acceptable.” The shaman responded.

“We don’t expect you to. If anything attaching Jack’s name is preferable.” Meg told him.

“Then explain to me exactly what it is you wish to say.” The shaman said.

~*~

 With Cloudown two days behind them, Ryan, Matt, and Jeremy were beginning to grow weary of travel as they walked their steeds down the wide road.

Lady Margaret Seville had welcomed them without sparing expense and immediately sworn her loyalty. Turned out her house had a long time feud with the house of one of the rebellious lords. She had been eager and willing to call her banners and march on the rebels. Ryan had to spend time convincing her that he didn’t need an army behind him and that he just needed to know more about those lords.

There wasn’t much to know that he hadn’t guessed at already, but the confirmation of a few hunches was comforting. The lords wanted power and were using the changes in taxation to recruit others to their cause. The only surprise was that they were not seeking to throne Ray. Ryan had assumed the uprising to be Ray’s doing, but there was no sign or mention of the man.

 It was a legitimate rebellion.

 Jeremy brought his arms back and stretched as they walked, “We should have taken the extra horses.” He complained.

Matt forced a laugh, “Yeah because we aren’t attractive enough to thieves already. Three men and six horses? We would already be dead.”

Ryan tried to ignore their squabbling; after a week of travel he knew it was their main form of communication and not worth his time.

“Well we wouldn’t need to walk nearly as much would we?” Jeremy argued, “I’m in full fucking plate, so this isn’t exactly pleasant.”

“And whose fault is that? You could have easily worn more sensible armour.” Matt retorted.

 "Sensible? Says the man in a bright red cloak when the whole point of our travel is to not draw attention!“ Jeremy shouted.

"Enough!” Ryan silenced them, “Please, may we walk in silence for a moment or two?” He hadn’t devoured a single soul for several days now and it was only furthering his irritability.

There was quiet for a few seconds.

 "Of course I’m going to wear the cloak; I’m the bloody Crimson Knight.“ Matt muttered angrily.

 "Oh, I’m sorry _sir,_ you want a damn name tag? Or how able a crier to announce you at each meeting?” Jeremy overheard Matt complain.

Matt opened his mouth to argue.

“Oh for the love of all that is sacred!” Ryan shouted. He drew his dagger and turned towards them, “Can I have quiet, or do you children need me to cut out your tongues?!”

Matt snapped his mouth shut.

Jeremy looked down to the ground and said in a voice that was barely above a whisper, “He started it, your grace.”

Ryan was clearly about to angrily respond when a forth voice caught all of their attention.

“Oi!” A man stood in the middle of their path with an armed crossbow.

Their group stopped walking.

Immediately seven more men jumped out from the underbrush surrounding them. They were all armed.

 "Your horses and gold!“ The first man demanded.

"I blame the two of you entirely.” Ryan growled at his knights.

“Shut it! I said your horses and gold!” The man repeated.

Ryan narrowed his eyes angrily and his fingers twitched involuntarily. Jack had been correct in assuming Ryan wouldn’t want an audience, but he had gone without for far too long.

  His knights would just have to live with it.

Matt could sense Ryan’s magic instantly. Ryan had summoned his magic forth and it now surrounded each of the eight men. It coiled around them like a serpent preparing to suffocate its prey. Matt couldn’t help but be impressed with how accurately Ryan managed to target the men outside of his line of sight. If any of them had been practiced in the arts even slightly, they probably would have been having second thoughts by now.

“If you want to live, hand them over. Otherwise we kill you three and take what we please.” The man told them.

“The horses?” Ryan raised an eyebrow, “You can have them.”

 All three horses reared and broke into a full sprint forwards. The thieves in their path had to scatter or risk being trampled.

 Jeremy’s horse even managed to bite the hand of the thief who tried to reach for his reins, before racing down the street.

Ryan spoke in the aftermath, “Seems there are no longer any horses for you to take.”

 Jeremy threw his hands up, “No horses for us either, I’d like to point out.”

“We will get them back, right?” Matt glanced at Jeremy but directed his question to Ryan.

 Ryan didn’t bother respond. Did they honestly believe he would lose their horses? He decided to ignore the implication; he had eight targets that demanded his full attention.

 How was he to do this? If he devoured just one and spared the others it was only a matter of time before his soul devouring became known. Jack had figured it out easily enough, so someone else might too. The answer would be to kill them all, but that felt like such a stupid waste of life when he had use for it. Ideally he’d want the souls of them all, but he couldn’t just tie them up and pull them behind the horses as they travelled.

 Ryan narrowed his options: he’d have to devour them now. All eight of them. Was it even possible to devour multiple souls at once? And if so, could he do all eight?

 If he failed the effort would have him collapse for sure, and then he’d have to hope Matt and Jeremy could fight off eight armed men.

Ryan cocked his head and frowned. He could devour one at a time and use his magic to keep the others immobile. It would be slower but safer. However, his knights might protest and try to stop him from finishing.

“Your Highn- Ryan, what is the plan?” Matt asked. Both he and Jeremy were ready to draw their blades.

“Your Highness?!” One of the men caught Matt’s slip, and repeated the title for all to hear.

“The Mad King?” Another asked in a hushed whisper.

“How?” One was in disbelief.

“The lord’s men said he would be coming.” A forth explained.

“Mercy!” Another cried and threw down their weapon as they fell to their knees.

 The cry of mercy was picked up by the rest of the men and soon they were all on their knees and disarmed.

Ryan turned to Matt and Matt could see the ice cold anger in Ryan’s eyes. He felt Ryan’s magic recoil and sweep towards him before retreating back towards Ryan.

Ryan was livid. Not only did this now mean his previous plans for dealing with the men were shot, it also meant that every settlement from here on would have word of his arrival. Each would wish to pay tribute and try to out do the others to prove their loyalty, especially since their lords had been so vocal in rebellion. The common folk would do whatever it took to save their homes if they thought he was about to sweep an army through their lands.

“You beg for mercy after threatening your king and scaring away his horses?” Ryan looked back towards the thieves and spoke calmly.

Matt looked to Jeremy and the two of them exchanged a worried look. They could hear the anger in Ryan’s voice and knew it would immediately be directed towards them once the thieves were dealt with. They hadn’t exactly been behaving well, and now that Matt had let them know it was the king they were dealing with… Well, Jeremy hoped he could slip by mostly unscathed.  

 The thieves grouped together and threw themselves down into the dirt before the king. They begged for his mercy and tried to explain that they had no choice but to steal in order to survive.

Ryan was deaf to their pleas; he was far too busy deciding what he should do now. It took a second but then the idea came to him.

 The king gave a calm if somewhat mean smile, “Repent all you wish, but it does not change the nature of your crimes, nor your guilt. You raised arms against me; this cannot go unpunished.”

 The men were horrified.

“Let it be known that I have decided to be merciful.” Ryan’s smile widened, “Whereas your crimes would sentence you all to execution, I have most graciously decided that I will execute only one of you. You men have the privilege of choosing which one of you I shall kill on behalf of the rest.”

Jeremy’s mouth went dry and he tried to swallow. Eyes wide he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He looked to Matt for confirmation only to see Matt already staring at him.

Jeremy wanted to argue, he really did, but that was not something one did when the king made a ruling. How could Ryan possibly expect these men to throw one of their brothers to the blade? It would be less cruel to simply kill them all.

 He then realised that was the point. After travelling with Ryan for so long it became easy to separate him from his reputation and title: the reputation and title he had _earned._

 The thieves became frantic and shouted at each other. Fingers were pointed and arguments had.

“I require a decision, or I will simply execute you all as the law demands.” Ryan wanted to hurry them along.

There was heated squabbling until the men decided on drawing straws. With each long straw revealed the tension grew.

Finally the short straw was drawn. The unlucky man was about Jeremy’s age with black hair tied back into a ponytail.

 He looked horrified, “No. No no nononono.” He chanted.

“I’m so sorry, Marco.” One of them consoled and reached out towards him.

Marco flinched back, “Sorry? Who’s going to take care of my dad? My sister? I’m the only one they have.”

Ryan wanted to comment that he should have taken that into consideration before becoming a roadside thief, but bit his tongue.

Marco’s fellows remained silent and avoided his gaze.

Marco stepped forward and Ryan thought him surprisingly brave until he turned on his heel and broke into a sprint.

 He didn’t get far.

Ryan’s magic lashed out and Marco fell forward as if his legs had suddenly been bound. He was pulled back towards the king while screaming and clawing at the ground fruitlessly.

When Ryan released him, he jumped to his feet, drew his sword, and swung at Ryan.

 Without flinching, Ryan caught the blade in his hand and could hear his knights drawing their own weapons. Ryan’s free hand immediately grabbed the man by the throat.

There was a stunned silence. No blood had spilled, and the king was without gauntlets.

Ryan’s grip on Marco’s neck tightened, but he hesitated. He had quite the audience present.

Ryan looked to the group of thieves, “Be gone.” He ordered and then added a threat, “Or I will spill your blood as well.”

They wasted no time in fleeing off of the road, and finally the group was alone again.

“What now?” Matt asked and sheathed his sword.

Ryan dug his fingers into Marco’s neck. Before Marco could utter out in pain his flesh liquefied and bone crumbled into dust.

 The knights watched as Ryan threw his head back, took a deep breath, and shuddered.

Ryan rolled his head and shoulders. He could feel all the tension and agitation within his body melt away. He had needed that.

 He absent-mindedly flicked the blood from his fingers and used some magic to clean them off. After giving a quick sharp whistle, Ryan turned back to Matt and Jeremy.

“Shall we continue our journey?” Ryan didn’t wait for a reply before stepping around the bloody puddle and continuing down the road.

After a moment of unsure silence it was Jeremy who was brave enough to speak.

 "May we know what just happened? That was no normal execution.“

"No.” Ryan answered without turning to him.

They heard their horses before they saw them. The three steeds trotted down the road towards them.

Ryan grabbed the reins of his horse as it approached and stroked its head and neck while cooing praise.

“How did you get them to do that? I can assure you my horse is not trained to flee on command.” Jeremy tried another subject.

Ryan mounted his steed, “I’m good with animals; always have been. They listen, unlike people.” For the most part. They still liked to swarm him, and he hated that.

“This is beyond 'good with animals’.” Matt replied as he jumped up into his saddle, “I’m good with animals and that means not getting bit.”

Ryan shrugged, “I’d rather I wasn’t. It’s a nuisance. Mind you it made controlling Edgar possible. So it’s not all bad.” He had only created Edgar because he’d been confident in his ability to control him.

“How is it a nuisance?” Jeremy laughed in disbelief.

“Tonight will be the first night we will be forced to spend in the woods. It will become more than apparent then.” Ryan stated without answering.

 "That sounds vaguely ominous.“ Matt commented.

"Hmm?” Ryan looked over his shoulder to Matt, “It wasn’t meant to be. It just seems ridiculous whenever I put it into words. Witnessing it is the best way to explain.” He turned back, “Hopefully you have no fear of squirrels and field mice, because they will undoubtedly be keeping us company through the night.”

“As long as they aren’t within my clothes…” Matt responded.

“Well.” Ryan began, “Then it may be a problem.”

“You’re not serious are you?” Jeremy gasped, he shook himself to rid the thought of their small claws and teeth against his skin.

Ryan laughed, and they realised he had been pulling their legs.

“In all honesty, you should be unaffected.” Ryan waved his hand, “Just ignore any rustling leaves and sleep. Most creatures approach me with curiosity and then leave. There will be movement, but no harm to anyone.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rebellion is on the horizon and the people are having trouble believing that the Mad King has truly returned. He decides to pay a visit to the three Lords leading the rebellion.

 Jeremy moved from his position leaning against a tree to sit on a large log a little further out.

 His king and fellow knight slept soundly by the camp fire behind him.

 This was their second night in these woods. Ryan had ordered them off the roads after the bandit ambush. The King wanted to keep their exact time of arrival within Lord Sable’s borders unknown. Any bandits or other travelers would only end up spreading rumour that would better aid Lord Sable’s men in preparing for them.

 In Ryan’s own words, “I’d rather wander upon bored and tired men than those eager and ready for a fight.” His logic was sound, and Jeremy was pleased that even though the king seemed to be looking forward to spilling blood, he was still approaching with caution.

 There was no guarantee that Lord Sable would be aggressive towards them, but it was best to assume the worst.

 Ryan had already told them that should Lord Sable ride out to greet them with an army, they should flee.

 However Jeremy still felt as if a part of the king wanted to see just that. Ryan may not have been as mad as the tales made it seem, but there was very clearly a madness within him.

 Of course, he still hadn’t had the courage to ask which tales were true.

 He heard a muffled gurgling sound and immediately looked to the ground as the thin black figure moved between the trees.

 Jeremy watched the enderman from the corners of his vision. Twice as tall as the average man, endermen had glowing purple eyes and gaping cavernous jaws. They had long clawed limbs covered in hard hide that clung to their bones. Yet as intimidating as they were they were peaceful creatures until looked at or disrupted.

 It wasn’t clear whether they were undead. Like the undead they were burned by the sun and humanoid, but there the similarities ended. Endermen were far more purposeful in their movements; they didn’t simply wander the land. They were pilferers and gathered items for some unknown purpose. Also, endermen were the only creatures outside of humans that could teleport; and with humans this was limited to those skilled in magic.

They were also harmed by water.

The enderman bent over and picked up a large stone before disappearing back between the trees.

 Jeremy sighed in relief. These woods were relatively safe, but endermen were plentiful.

 The muffled gurgling started once more, but this time behind him. He carefully turned towards the campfire and saw the same enderman standing and looking at their fire. It still held the rock in its hands.

 Jeremy wanted to shoo it away, it was far too close to his companions, but could not risk angering it.

 It seemed contemplative, standing almost motionless as it watched the flames.

 Then it approached the king. Jeremy didn’t want to risk him harm, so he stood and looked the creature in the eye.

 The enderman immediately met his gaze and clutched its stone tightly to its chest as it opened its maw and appeared frozen in place.

 Without blinking, Jeremy drew his sword and slowly approached the creature.

 He fought hard not to blink and break eye contact but a wind brought the smoke from the fire towards him. He was forced to close his eyes and when he did, he heard the enderman’s horrific wail.

 Sword at the ready, he spun around knowing that the creature would have teleported behind him. He managed to lift his blade just in time to block a swipe from its long claws.

 There were shouts behind him and he knew that Matt and Ryan had woken from the commotion.

 The enderman teleported away as it dodged an arrow fired by Matt. Jeremy turned around once again as the enderman appeared behind him. He stabbed towards the creature’s gut but Ryan’s blade was faster. The king skewered the enderman from behind and it screeched in pain as it died.

 It clutched at its gut as Ryan retracted his weapon and then collapsed to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

 Jeremy sheathed his sword and caught his breath, “It got too close for me to ignore.” He explained with a huff.

 Ryan cleaned his blade and sheathed it, before taking out his dagger and walking over to the enderman. He crouched over its body and sunk the dagger into its chest.

 The knights watched as he cut the corpse open and fished out its ender pearl.

 Putting his dagger away, Ryan held out the pearl still covered in purple blood, “I’m surprised it didn’t shatter.” He turned to Jeremy, “Take it. Save it or use it for some coin.”

 Jeremy carefully grabbed the wet pearl, “Thank you, your Grace.” He bowed, “Always a good idea to have a quick method of escape.”

 "Or coin.“ Matt added, "Pearls can fetch roughly seventy silver, and a pearl harvested by the king could fetch a gold.”

 Ryan chuckled at that, “A pearl is a pearl, regardless of who harvested it.”

 Matt shrugged, “Still.”

 Jeremy put the pearl safely away, “I would say that you should go back to sleep as it is still my watch, but I believe sleep will not come easily after that.”

 Ryan looked at the stars above, “It is almost time for my watch anyway. Consider yourself relieved early.” When they had first started sleeping under the open sky, Matt and Jeremy had avoided waking him and Ryan had had to order them not to be foolish. In the wild there were no kings or hierarchy, only those who survived. They each had to carry their weight.

 "You sure?“ Jeremy still asked.

 Ryan nodded, "Yes. Remove your plate and get some rest, I will not be falling asleep anytime soon. Sir Matt, you too should sl-” He suddenly stopped and froze in place as if hearing something.

 "Your Highness?“ Matt was concerned.

 Ryan waved them quiet.

 The knights exchanged a look. Neither of them was hearing something out of place. The leaves rustled and trees creaked while the logs of their fire shifted and popped.

 "Listen.” Ryan told them and got blank stares in return, “The wind, listen to it.” He specified.

 They listened in silence for a few seconds before Jeremy spoke, “I hear wind. Nothing unusual in my mind.” He looked to Matt for confirmation.

 Matt nodded, “Just wind.”

   Ryan didn’t seem convinced, “It’s stopped, but it was definitely unnatural. It had a pattern, rhythm.”

 "Might be some casters in the area; shamen, witches, druids, or even just someone fooling around.“ Matt offered.

 "If there are, we better hope we’ve gone unnoticed or that they hold no loyalty to Lord Sable.” Jeremy commented.

 Ryan nodded and resumed preparing for his watch. He once again put on his armour and properly secured his weapon belt.

 "I will be watching our surroundings closely. If I sense any magic we must forgo rest and keep moving. I’ve kept us warded and concealed, but they can still wander upon us.“ He informed them.

 Jeremy began to remove his steel plate, "You’ve had us warded?” He hadn’t told them.

 "Only since we left the road.“ Ryan explained, "Fairly simple ones too, but enough to deter voyeurs.” It was a part truth; he had concealed himself as soon as he’d been able with the strongest spells he knew. However, it had nothing to do with their trip as it was entirely a counter measure against Geoff.

 Matt and Jeremy were far less interesting anyway. Geoff would have no reason to spy on a pair of random knights. At least that was what Ryan was wagering on.

 Ryan pulled his cloak around himself tightly and seated himself on a decaying log. Behind him he heard Matt and Jeremy lay back down and wrap themselves in their blankets. He considered moving the body of the enderman but knew that the sun would just burn it away in a few hours. A quick spell to grant himself night vision and he was ready to keep watch.

 These few hours he would have to himself and his thoughts – moments he usually enjoyed, treasured even. But lately his thoughts had been of his dream from several days back. His sleep had been filled with the usual fare since then, so it only made it all the more absurd. He’d told himself he would worry about it later, but it kept floating back to the top of his mind in moments of silence.

  _You are no longer welcome._

 Those words bothered him. What did they mean? Was he no longer welcome among the dead, or within the realm of the dead? He was completely happy spending eternity haunting the mortal realm after his death, but he couldn’t be sure that was what was meant. What if he simply wasn’t aware of the real consequence? What if it really was something he should concern himself with repairing?

 He looked to a leaf on the ground before him and busied himself in conjuring small bits of wind to keep it in the air. It would be more practical to use his magic on the leaf directly and make it float, but there was no challenge in that. He smiled to himself; it would be like using a stick to keep a kite in the air instead of string.

 Feeling the eyes and ears of the woods on him was strangely comforting. The birds and beasts paid him no malicious or treasonous intent. They simply were. It was far different within the castle walls; any eyes or ears often carried daggers and passed on whispers, actively seeking to destroy.

 And now with the previous king still alive, Ryan was left with no one he could fully trust. His council was Gavin’s, the soldiers, guards, and servants – all Gavin’s. The only power he had over them was fear, and he required far more than that. Jack was loyal to the kingdom and not Ryan, so as much as Ryan trusted him, he knew he couldn’t trust him to be on his side.

 He looked over his shoulder at the sleeping forms of Matt and Jeremy. In a pinch they could be lords, but neither owned land and probably would not know what to do in such a position.

  Matt had knowledge of the arcane, but was far from an intimidating figure. He would find it difficult command a previous lord’s hold, and would require a fair sized royal regiment to aid him. He was also far too concerned in his own affairs to effectively manage the affairs of others. His potential would be greater as an advisor or council member, but Ryan was hesitant to trust him. Matt had yet to prove that his loyalty was to Ryan and not Jack.

 Jeremy was practical and focused on fact, but his honour would be more bane than boon in an advisory or council position. Honourable men were fine, and Ryan respected them, but he needed loyalty not honour. He needed those eager to strike when the enemy was at a disadvantage, not those who would wait until they regained their ground. Because of this he believed that Jeremy could make a fine lord, and would quickly garner respect from his subjects. He could hold his own in battle without “trickery” such as magic and this would reduce how suspicious the people would be of him.

 Of course, any lord or noble appointed by the Mad King would by default be considered suspicious.

 Didn’t help he was now in a position where he had to convince people of a title he hated in order to prove he was no pretender.

 Ideally he wouldn’t have to kill the rebellious lords – not now at least. He needed time to replace them, and to kill them now as he visited would create a mad scramble to fill the void. From Lady Seville he had learned much about Lord Sable. Notably, that Lord Sable had an elder brother who had been passed over in his inheritance of the title.

 Ryan hoped that that had not been a decision on the elder brother’s part; it could provide tension he could exploit and offer him a suitable replacement for Lord Sable. If the elder brother didn’t want to be lord and fully supported his sibling, then they would both have to be removed.

 Lady Seville didn’t speak highly of the Sables, but even so she had admitted that she didn’t believe them to be the masterminds of the rebellion. Ryan was ready to spill blood, but still hoped that Sable loyalties could be swayed. Reliably, of course. He really didn’t want to deal with a future uprising from the same family. In stark contrast to his reputation, Ryan preferred to be merciful, but if he so much as suspected that his mercy would be taken advantage of, he would become ruthless instead. He was ruthless without guilt or hesitation, and if someone made the poor choice of antagonizing him… that’s when he had his fun.

 As a general rule he would say he disliked suffering, indeed, he wanted his people to be as well off as possible, but when he was the one _causing_ the suffering, it was a different matter. Then he quite enjoyed it. Some might say he reveled in it.

 Ryan watched as a hare made its way over to chew on a fresh fern a few feet from where he was sitting. It was still thin from the winter, but the spring bloom was at most a week or two away so it would be feasting soon.

 The hare watched him back as it munched away.

 Ryan rested his chin in his hand, “Your greatest fear is a hawk or wolf. How is it to fear death and nothing else?” He asked the hare, “To have no responsibility but to feed yourself and kin?”

 The hare stopped its eating to rise up on its haunches and stare at Ryan, a piece of fern still hanging from its mouth. He had its full attention.

 Ryan grinned at the absurdity of it. Here he was; crowned regent speaking to a hare out in the woods in the middle of the night.

 “Please, continue.” He smiled.

 The hare still eyed him, but with a twitch of its ears it returned to eating the fern.

 An idea struck Ryan.  He currently had scouting parties scouring the kingdom in search of Gavin and Geoff, but knew they were unlikely to find anything. His own search had been fruitless and he had to use his time to rule a kingdom, not hunt them down as he would prefer. Why not enlist the aid of actual hunters?

 His control over animals was supernatural; he might as well utilize it instead of moaning about how it was a nuisance.

 He still had Gavin’s sword. It was in his chambers back in the castle. He knew exactly where it was.

 The blade appeared in his hands from thin air. Its emerald sheath glinted in the moonlight, and Ryan couldn’t help but scowl at the weapon that had taken his life. He placed it down on the ground, leaning it against the log. It would be a shame to lose such a trophy but he would gladly be rid of it in exchange for Gavin and Geoff.

 Ryan looked to the hare. It instantly fell limp and dropped to the ground. With a quick motion it was in his hands and he drew his dagger. He hummed a wordless incantation and cut its belly open. The blood was black beneath the stars.

 Dipping a finger in the blood he used it to mark Gavin’s blade.

 Then he waited.

 It didn’t take long.

 The campfire illuminated the pairs of yellow eyes as they appeared between the bushes and trees. Immediately the horses smelled the wolves and began to nervously nicker and then whine. Eastern wolves were smaller than their northern and western brethren but hunted in much larger groups. Their grey fur was a favourite prize among hunters, but a dangerous one. Anyone wearing wolf hide was stalked down by the rest of the pack and torn apart. This made grey wolf trimmed cloaks and clothing popular in the east not for their warmth but as a sign of bravery.

 Ryan thought it was idiocy.

 The wolves left the cover of the trees and approached Ryan. They were apprehensive but clearly curious. Heads held low and tails kept still, they slowly came closer until they feared getting any nearer.

 Ryan carefully moved into a crouch and extended his hand to the wolf immediately before him. It shied away at first but then inspected his scent. It touched its nose to the tips of his fingers before giving his hand a gentle lick.

 Ryan gave a friendly smile; good. He slowly moved forward and scratched the wolf’s jaw. It eagerly leaned into his touch and its tail began to swing back and forth. Ryan used his other hand to toss the hare to the wolf. It eagerly snatched it and the rest of its pack came rushing forward in the hopes of tearing off a piece.

 With such a small animal the squabble was short lived as it was quickly devoured. Now the wolves were excited and they all returned to Ryan eager for what was next.

 Now Ryan reached for Gavin’s blade. He presented it to the pack and placed it before them. They crowded close to gather its scent.

 Ryan spoke lowly, “Spread the scent, find them, and never again shall your enemies go unpunished.” He placed the full power of his will into the words. He was king and he could easily have anyone who hunted a wolf be killed. If they succeed it was very much his intent to do just that. He was a man of his word after all.

 One wolf grabbed the sheath and another bit down on the hilt. They ran off in opposite directions and the rest of the pack split and sprinted after them.

 Once deep in the woods they began to howl, and Ryan heard as the call got picked up by others in the distance.

  _The wilds are mine; their eyes, ears, and noses as good as my own._ His widening grin grew manic, _I am your death and I am coming. Run._

~*~

 They were on their horses riding through the quickly thinning forest. Soon they would be spotted and shortly afterwards they would be greeted by Lord Sable’s men.

 The mood was one of tension and uncertainty. Were they riding into battle, or a warm bath and bed?

 Jeremy gripped the reins tightly but still attempted conversation, “Quiet this morning, Matt? Has fear frozen your tongue?”

 Matt scoffed in response. It was fear, but not fear of what was coming. No, he feared what he had seen when the king had believed both of them asleep. The king had conversed with and commanded wolves. Wolves! And they had eagerly raced off to do whatever dark deeds he had ordered, howling to their comrades for the rest of the night. The man commanded armies, the very skies, and now the beasts as well! It had shaken him to the bone; he had thought that the Mad King’s power had been exaggeration. Matt had studied the arcane and believed himself to be well versed in its laws and what it could and could not do, but how could anyone hope to stand against such a force?

 “Matt?” Jeremy turned around to look at him better when he received no response.

 Matt cleared his throat so his voice would not tremble as Ryan looked to him curious at his silence, “I do not wish to ride into a waiting army.” He looked to Ryan who seemed interested in what he had to say, “Your Highness, you told us to flee if met with aggression, but how far could we get? If he has called his banners then he will have an army. Archers and mages capable of downing us at a distance.”

 Ryan wrinkled his nose slightly before responding, “Do you fear death, Sir Matt?”

 “I fear failing the crown, and to die here would be to do just that.” Matt explained and was surprised at the genuine sympathy that entered Ryan’s expression.

 “Honourable answer.” Ryan nodded, “But none of us shall die here, so you need not fear failing me. We have travelled far, and I will not suddenly allow harm to befall either of you.”

 Matt nodded as if the words had comforted him. He couldn’t voice that it was his king that he feared, even though Ryan would likely take it as a compliment.

 “And should harm befall you?” Jeremy asked the obvious question. It bothered him how confident the king was that he would be the one protecting them.

 Ryan turned back to watch where his horse was going and chuckled, “Like I said to you when we first set out; I have a history of returning from the dead. It may take two decades, but I’ll return.” He actually wasn’t confident in that. His confidence came from being sure that he wouldn’t be able to be killed in the first place, but to say so would only been seen as arrogance.

 The knights had no response to that.

 They emerged from the woods into farmland and made their way back onto the road. The landscape hid Lord Sable’s castle, but it did not hide the smoke from hundreds of morning cooking fires.

 The knights exchanged a look and paled. Lord Sable had indeed called his banners, and his army was camping in front of his door waiting for the order to march.

 A scout in the distance quickly spotted them and raced off to tell his superiors.

 “They know we’re here.” Ryan needlessly informed them.

 It was mere minutes before a party was riding out to meet them. Both Matt and Jeremy urged their horses closer to their king for his protection. Ryan appreciated the gesture, but knew it useless.

 Their welcoming party was eight men strong, and their leader halted his horse before the king.

 He did not bow.

 “That is Lord Sable’s older brother, Richard Sable.” Jeremy leaned over and told his king.

 “Ryan Haywood, are the rumours true? Does the king ride into our army’s maw? With two small knights as his protection?” Richard smiled and his men exchanged chuckles, but his brown eyes showed no humour. His black hair and beard were both cut short and well groomed. It was visibly clear Richard trained often as his armour could not hide his athletic build.

 Jeremy narrowed his eyes at the insult, while Matt tightened his grip on his sword.

 “It seems there has been a misunderstanding on Lord Sable’s part. I have come in good faith to speak with him.” Ryan simply stated and then in order to gauge Richard’s reaction, he added, “I have no words for one who was denied his birthright. Take me to the lord of these lands, and watch your tongue.”

 Richard’s expression grew angry and he ordered his men to surround them, “I am not the one who needs to watch his tongue!” He retorted and began to lead them towards the castle.

 Ryan figured that this was his best opportunity to start seeding discord, “Shame that Lord Sable called his banners. A treasonous action, he best have had good reason to do so, or I shall be seeking another to take the title of Lord.”

 Richard scoffed, “Even if you are not the true Mad King, you have taken a title that suits you well.”

 “Yes, it’s a distasteful one, and yet I still seem required to prove my identity.” Ryan responded.

 “The Mad King is dead by King Gavin’s blade. If he had not died then Gavin’s reign would not have lasted as long as it had.” Richard seemed comfortable in his reasoning.

 It was Ryan’s turn to chuckle.

 Richard turned to him, “You are far from being in a positon to laugh.”

 “It would seem so, wouldn’t it? Yet I do.” Ryan paused, “Satisfy my curiosity; how does a younger sibling inherit the lands and title?”

 “I do not question our mother’s will.” Richard seemed as if he had more to say but stopped himself.

 “But I do.” Ryan was quick to state.

 Richard threw him a quick glance before staring straight ahead and falling silent. He knew exactly what the king was offering, but his brother had an army, and this man had only two knights. Even if he was the real Mad King, his offer held no weight. They’d learn just how easily he could return from the dead a second time.

 As they turned a final bend, Lord Sable’s castle became visible and so did the army encampment around it. It consisted of a good three thousand men and women.

 They were led into the midst of the encampment towards the main gate of the castle where another party greeted them amongst the soldiers.

 “General, the King wishes to speak with our Lord.” Richard gave a bow as he gestured towards Ryan.

 Ryan noticed how Richard had changed the title he called him by and how the bow was not at all mocking. He returned a small nod to let Richard know it had been acknowledged. Seemed Richard was the cautious type and not willing to entirely dismiss Ryan. Especially with the offer of a lordship on the table.

 The General eyed the three of them up and down, “Lord Sable doesn’t have time for a fool who claims the crown and yet rides against an army with only two men!” he spoke loudly so that the gathering crowd could hear him clearly, “MAD King indeed!” He slapped the leather armour over his chest. He was an older man, greying and balding, and the numerous scars covering his heavy build made it clear he was a fighter.

 “Then what does the Lord wish?” Richard asked. It seemed that he had expected his brother to at least grant the king an audience.

 “He wishes to mount his head above our banner when we march on the capital!” The General growled, and his soldiers cheered

 Ryan shook his head in mock disappointment; it was getting difficult to hide the excitement that had welled up within him at those words. Rationally he had hoped for the audience, but he could not deny that this was what he had wanted all along. It had been almost a week since he’d devoured that bandit and having been faced with the challenge of devouring multiple souls which he had been forced to turn down, he was eager to try again. He had spent quite some time thinking about a solution. Turned out it was simple.

 Ryan looked to his knights, “Do you two wish to remain here?” If they decided to flee he would teleport them back to the castle grounds in the capital. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to teleport the horses as well, but at least his knights would be safe.

 Matt and Jeremy pursed their lips and drew their swords. Red fire burned in Matt’s free hand, and Jeremy pulled out a potion of harming.

 In response, all the General’s men and surrounding soldiers drew their weapons eager for the order to attack. The General didn’t bother with his own weapon and laughed.

 “Lord Richard, are there men or women here worth saving?” Ryan calmly asked Richard.

 The General’s laugh halted at the use of the title.

 Richard looked conflicted and was unable to respond.

 Ryan sighed before speaking loudly so that he was heard, “Consider my terms thus: any individual who flees or surrenders will be spared my wrath and their life.”

 The laughter became a roar and the General snarled, “Completely mad! What idiocy!”

 Matt and Jeremy were having difficulty not agreeing with the General.

 Ryan narrowed his gaze and his icy stare fell upon the General. It was filled with a cruel hunger.

 The General had had enough of this display, and motioned for his soldiers to attack.

 Ryan let his grin escape and it grew vicious as the General liquefied atop his horse.

 There were confused shouts, but not enough to stop the charging soldiers. Jeremy threw his potion and Matt lashed out with his fire, but their horses were quick to buck them off in the panic and flee.

 Matt hurried to his feet and was aided by Jeremy. They both lowered their weapons upon witnessing what was occurring.

 Ryan’s horse was gone as well, but he didn’t seem to care as he was suspending himself in the air with his feet a good metre and a half above the ground.

 The ground. It had been dry but was now sloshing runny mud made with blood.

 Ryan’s maniacal laughter could be heard among the chaos. The soldiers that comprehended what was happening were quick to throw down their weapons and flee. At the same time soldiers further in the camp readied their weapons and charged forward, only knowing that they were being attacked. All those who ran forward were quick to become part of the mud, and those who fled were mostly spared. Mostly. It became clearer and clearer that Ryan had stopped caring who died if they wore the colours of the rebel lord.

 Arms extended and cackling Ryan ended the last few souls who dared challenge him. They were mostly mages and archers at this point and he was quick to pick them out from where they hid. He was unstoppable and easily swatted away even the strongest of spells hurled towards him.

 Eventually the assault died off with no more souls willing to challenge him. Ryan closed his eyes and savoured the moment as he lightly returned to the ground. He had been a fool to try and avoid such a feast. His solution had been to devour only one soul at a time but to do so consecutively and quickly with each devoured soul aiding him in taking the next even sooner. By the end it didn’t matter; at one point he took over a dozen souls at once before his attackers had started dwindling in number.

 He turned to his knights with a smile, “I promised no harm would befall you.”

 They were bone white and shaking, watching the army disperse.

 Many soldiers, if not most, were fleeing through the surrounding farms and countryside. They had no destination in mind, just a driving need to get as far away as they could. The further regiments that had not been witness to the massacre were lost in the confusion and reluctant to move in any direction. They were frozen without orders.

 “Your Highness! My liege!” Richard sobbed into the blood saturated ground. He was on his hands and knees, and shaking as violently as anyone.

 Ryan seemed completely unfazed by their reactions as if he had experienced them many times before – as if he had long been a practitioner of dark and horrific arts.

 Ryan extended Richard his hand, “Lord Sable, the mud and blood does not become you. Show me to your castle so we may clean ourselves and rest. Perhaps share a fine meal? My companions and I have travelled far and are eager for your hospitality.”

 Richard immediately flinched away from Ryan’s hand, but Ryan insisted, so he took it and stood.

 Richard couldn’t meet Ryan’s eyes, “M- My- Will- Are you going to kill my brother?” he finally forced the question out of his throat.

 Ryan put his hand on Richard’s shoulder, making him violently flinch once again, “Do you want me to?”

 “I- no. He is my brother.” Richard replied. His voice was small.

 “Then I won’t harm him. I respect the wishes of my loyal lords.” Ryan didn’t feel any threat was necessary, but Richard responded almost as if there had been one.

 Richard bowed low once again, “Let me show you the castle. I am sure my brother will be honoured by your presence, your Grace.” He straightened and gestured to the gates, before leading them there.

 Richard pounded on the heavy gate that had been shut in the chaos, “Open the gates!” He hollered, “The king demands an audience with my brother!”

 There was silence.

 “Open the gates!” Richard was close to screaming.

 A hesitant and hidden voice from somewhere atop the wall responded, “Lord Sable has ordered the castle shut to all!”

 “I am now lord of this hold, and I command that you open these gates! The king demands an audience with my brother!” Richard shouted. He seemed to have found his confidence once more, “Open the gates or I will have your head on a pike!”

 There was silence once more and Ryan was curious what the guards would do. He’d already reached forward beyond the gate with his magic and found the large log barring it shut. If they did not open the gate, he would. He grabbed hold of it and was ready to throw it aside when there were shouts from within the castle walls.

 Slowly the gates opened. Guards and soldiers came forward with their weapons drawn but did not charge them in attack. They stood and blocked their way.

 Richard sensed that Ryan was ready to act, so he turned to him and spoke quickly, “My liege, these are my men now. See how loyal they are? They defend the keep even if it would mean their deaths. They are frightened and confused. Forgive them their transgressions.” He turned to the guards, “Do not raise your weapons against the king! I am now lord of this hold, and order you all to stand down. Lead us to my traitorous brother.”

 Matt approached Ryan and spoke to him quietly, “Your Highness, these men are frightened and confused. They do not know where their loyalty should lie.” He swallowed, “B-Be merciful, perhaps.”

 Jeremy was quick to add, “If you so deem, your Highness.” He met Matt’s gaze and nodded.

 The guards lowered their weapons and stepped aside.

 Richard let out a breath he had been holding, “Where is my brother?” He asked them.

 A guard came forward with a deep bow, “Seated in the great hall with his banner men, last I heard.”

 Richard nodded and motioned for the king and his knights to follow him.

 The trip to the great hall was a silent one. Not a soul dared cross their path as they travelled through the stone walkways of the castle until they reached the great wooden doors of the hall.

 Without hesitation Richard pushed the doors open and entered the hall. Within sat his brother in the Lord’s seat with a table before him containing a mess of maps and papers. Around the table stood lesser lords who were loyal to the Sable house. Many had fled just moments earlier, but four lords remained.

 The younger Sable brother was no more than a couple years younger, but it showed. He had his shoulder length black hair tied back and was clean shaven, but otherwise was near identical to Richard. His frame was less muscled than his older brother’s but that was to be expected of a Lord who wouldn’t have the time to train as often.

 Still covered in mud and blood, Lord Richard was surely a sight to behold as he approached the table. Behind him entered the king with his two knights in tow.

 “Brother.” Richard began, “Step down, and do so peacefully, for I am now Lord of these lands. Your army is broken and scattered, and your rebellion foiled. King Ryan has the throne, and no army has the power to change that.” He then more gently begged, “Francis, please. I do not wish to lose you.”

 “How flattering, Lord Sable.” Ryan responded to Richard.

 Francis stood, he couldn’t allow to be seen as a coward before his lords, “You are not traitorous, Richard.” He thumped his fist on the table, “Have you fallen to the Mad King’s sorcery? Has his madness become yours? His rule is one of trickery and fear!”

 “Do not speak about your king in such a fashion!” Richard ordered, “I had assured him you were honourable and trustworthy, so that you should be spared his wrath. Do not give him cause to decide otherwise!” He couldn’t be blunter.

 Francis understood the warning. He was skeptical and unsure as to what exactly had occurred outside his gates, but his brother was not. Richard’s fear was real, and Francis knew to trust it.

 Francis walked around to the front of the table and bowed low with his hand on his breast, “My liege, and my Lord. Forgive my folly and ignorance. What are your orders?”

 The lesser lords were confused but their loyalty lay with house Sable, so they had no choice but to bow and pledge themselves as well.

 Ryan knew the brothers wanted nothing more than to speak to one another in private in order to discuss what had occurred, and what would happen next, “Lord Sable, you promised me a warm bath and fine meal. I would like to accept.”

 “Yes of course, your Grace!” Richard quickly bowed, “I will have the servants take care of you and your men.” He ordered his servants into the room and relayed the king’s orders.

 Ryan nodded in thanks and allowed himself to be led away.

 ~*~

  Ryan sunk further down into the hot perfumed water with a sigh of pleasure. For the first time in a long while he felt content; as if he had no more he could desire, and no pressing duties to perform.

 After demanding he be left alone and not interrupted, he had magically sealed the door to the bathing chamber and broken his glamour. The additional weight on his head felt right, and he hoped he would soon come to accept his true appearance. This was who he now was after all; neither man nor beast, but some sort of middle ground between the two.

 

 He wasn’t sure what proper care for horns was so he gave them a quick soapy scrub and rinse. They had probably been the cleanest part of him anyway as his glamour had kept them immaterial throughout his travel, but it had felt nice.

 He closed his eyes and lowered himself further until his nose was just above the water. The Sable brothers were working closely with their lords to regroup the people that had fled and restore operations to the hold. Messengers had been sent in every direction to inform the kingdom of House Sable’s alliance with the crown. Ryan smiled at the thought of just what those messages contained. What tales would be told of his conquest? Richard had commented that Ryan must wield the power of a god to do what he had done.

 Ryan had liked that comparison. He’d often said he’d become a god, but it had mostly been a boast. What if it were actually possible? He snorted at the thought, creating ripples across the surface of his bath water. Even Geoff who was immortal did not know the secret to achieving immortality, and Ryan was not interested in finding it. Immortality was a curse, and Ryan only needed to look at Geoff for proof of that. Would he wish to live longer? He agreed he might if he ever reached a point in his life where age was his greatest threat, but still felt that would be an unlikely scenario.

 Geoff would make sure of that.

 That made Ryan wonder what Geoff would hear of what happened here today. He hoped it would worry him. It would be great if it drove him from hiding, but Ryan found that doubtful.

 He stretched and yawned. If he remained here any longer he would become a prune. All good things came to an end; he would have to act as king once again. Hopefully the remaining two lords who had been part of the revolt would surrender. If they did he’d be back home sooner.

~*~

 Richard bowed as the king approached. He too had taken time to clean himself, and while waiting on the king he had been productive. He had had the servants pull what records they could that mentioned the Mad King’s previous reigns, or held any information regarding him.

 There wasn’t much he could use, but he had learned that Ryan held a love of books. Richard decided to take advantage of that.

 “Lord Sable.” Ryan greeted him.

 “Your Grace.” Richard responded, “We still have time before dinner is readied, and I thought that you might be interested in our hold’s library.”

 Ryan lifted an eyebrow, “If your collection contains any unusual or particularly old tomes, I would very much be interested.”

 Richard celebrated internally. He hated having the king wandering his halls; it made him nervous.

 “We have a small collection of rare books from the region, and my mother’s librarian has taken great care to preserve them. She is old and her legs failing her, but she would be beyond ecstatic to show the king her work.” Richard explained and immediately began to lead Ryan to the library.

 Ryan followed him closely, “I am eager to see her work. So few people care for writing these days, and the most important pieces often rot in neglect.”

 Richard nodded in agreement, “Aye, if I had more time I would spend it reading, but I have duties to uphold, and even more so now as lord. As well, anything referencing the arcane or sciences is far beyond me.” He chuckled, “I do not have the mind for it, but my sister is currently studying at the Academy in the capital. Conjuring is her specialty, I believe.”

 “One of the most basic and yet complicated of the disciplines.” Ryan acknowledged, “She must be quite the intelligent individual.”

 “Indeed she is; ‘the smartest of the Sables’ my mother called her.” He smiled at the memory, but when he looked at Ryan again his smile faded, “I warned my brother not to side with the traitor lords. It was folly, especially with our sister living in the capital. She refuses to leave her studies.” Richard tried to explain without making it sound as if his sister had been the only reason why rebellion had been a bad idea.

 Ryan nodded in understanding.

 They travelled for a few moments in silence, before Richard became uncomfortable and spoke, “So how does one return from the dead? Should death be feared?”

 Ryan gave him an evaluating stare as he thought through what he should tell the lord, “That is a secret I will keep tightly guarded. As for how death was; it is best described as a realm of dust and shadow where you are no more real than a wisp of smoke. Far too crowded for my liking. I have killed many and they were quick to find me. Death was no more than a nuisance; an annoyance.”

 “What do you mean by that those you killed found you?” Richard was intrigued.

 Ryan shrugged, “They came to me. Some wished to tell me that they had forgiven me, and many more were still bitter that I had ended their lives. Why they believed I would suddenly care, I do not know. When you are dead there is not much more that can happen to you. I had no apologies to give.”

 “Oh.” Richard had nothing else with which he could respond.

 “I am sure that for those far more virtuous than I, the experience is more favourable.” Ryan added. It was a guess on his part, but the dead were still very much people and he was sure that they would act as such. Heroes would receive a hero’s welcome, and all that.

 Reaching the library, Richard called forward the librarian. He had not lied about her age, and Ryan was quick to tell the woman she need not bow as she hurriedly hobbled over. Richard was thrown aback by the sudden concern on the king’s behalf; it did not at all fit with what he knew of him.

 Still she clutched her cane and bowed her head as best she could. Her voice was gravelly and she welcomed the king to her library.

 “I will leave you two to your books.” Richard stated and then bowed, before leaving them.

 Ryan looked to the librarian, “Lord Sable told me you had done some excellent work with the preservation of some particularly old tomes.”

 “Bah!” The librarian spat, but still smiled, “I have done my humble best with what meager resources I have. No one cares for my work.” She coughed, “But this king does! Come, I have one piece in particular you may find of interest.” She walked away without waiting to see if he would follow.

 “And what is this piece?” Ryan was intrigued as he followed.

 She looked back and grinned at him, “A journal, but a fascinating one – one that the Mad King may be the only mortal capable of truly appreciating.” She reached a large locked cabinet and proceeded to open it.

 “That’s high praise.” Ryan muttered as he watched her pull out a metal casing and a pair of crude forceps.

 She gingerly opened the metal casing to reveal an ancient soft cover journal bound with decaying leather. She didn’t dare touch it with her hands and used the forceps to open the cover, before moving aside and offering the forceps to Ryan.

 “I assume the Mad King can read the ancient tongue?” She smiled.

 Ryan wasn’t going to bother mentioning how that title annoyed him, “Yes I can.”

 “This is an eastern dialect. From when there were only scattered clans residing in these lands.” She eagerly motioned for him to read, “Read it thoroughly; I have many theories as to its meaning, and would be honoured to hear yours.”

 Ryan seated himself and began to decipher the messy handwriting. It looked as if the author had hurried in its writing with portions smudged, scratched out, or circled. Large chunks were missing where the paper had crumbled to dust, but what Ryan could make out had him quickly absorbed in the writer’s words. He used the forceps to carefully turn the pages, many of which were no longer attached to the binding.

 The librarian waited patiently as Ryan would occasionally flip back a page or two to reread something, before proceeding.

 Ryan finished and looked up with a defocused stare, “Fascinating.” He whispered.

 “It is, isn’t it?” The librarian returned to his side keen to discuss its contents.

 “This author and their three companions… Do you believe this speaks of a journey to the End?” Ryan asked.

 “They speak of travelling through a portal to a realm of darkness where a great beast resides. A beast that slays all but the author in battle.” She stated, “In my mind there is only one such realm.”

 “Yes but the author claims to have slain the dragon, or beast, as he calls it. ‘Landed the killing blow and bathed in the beast’s blood.’ Only to find himself back in the wilderness of our world. If the Ender Dragon had been slain so long ago, with only one man left to spread the tale, how would the myth persist so strongly to this day? He claims to have destroyed the portal; it’s not as if another has ever gone through. This is the only record I have ever seen of this kind. All mentions of the End speak of it as existing from tales, never from experience. Never from a visit to the place itself.”

 “Can myth not hold truth? If the author survived and spoke of this realm, what a tale it would be! A horror to scare babes and frighten those too bold in the arcane.” She reasoned.

 Ryan nodded at her logic, “Yes, but there are other inconsistencies. He states that his companion used an ‘awoken eye’ to open the portal. Then makes mention of slumbering eyes falling from strange ‘men’ in the End. By their description it is clear he speaks of endermen; yet they are treated as a completely novel creature. Are we to believe that endermen did not exist in our realm? And if so, how would have the author’s companions ever have found this ‘awoken eye’?”

 “The awoken eye itself is a mystery as he makes explicit mention that the pearls that fall from endermen are ‘slumbering’ or ‘dead’. The properties of ender pearls are well known, and they do not match the awoken eye they used to find and activate the portal. I have long thought on it, and in the end I believe the greatest clue lies in the very name of endermen. ‘Men of the End’ is that not what the name means? Much like the Ender Dragon is the beast of the end?” The librarian argued.

 Ryan exhaled. He was excited by the find, but skeptical as to its veracity. Just because something was old, it did not mean it was truth, “It could be another realm entirely, and we are interpreting these creatures he fought as endermen when they were something else.”

 “What other creatures are angered by a gaze, appear as tall soot covered men, and have glowing purple eyes? That drop a pearl upon death?” She put forth.

 “A ‘slumbering eye’” Ryan corrected her. They had made the ender pearl assumption based on the creatures being endermen.

 “But what if endermen did not exist in our realm before this portal was opened? It would explain so much about them; how they are so different from anything else. How could a creature harmed by water and sun ever survive otherwise?” She was quick to point out.

 Ryan had to agree with that. Endermen were out of place. One could argue that creepers were as well, but they enjoyed the sun and gathered in great number during storms. In fact creeper gatherings were an excellent way to predict weather. Endermen had no such connection to anything within the world. They were an oddity.

 “Assuming we are correct, and assuming that all written here is truth, then we are still left with the puzzle of what an awoken eye/pearl is.” Ryan explained.

 The librarian shrugged, “I had hoped that maybe you would have better insight into that mystery than I, your Highness. Your knowledge of these things is rumoured to be unparalleled.”

 “There is much I do not know; this is just another in an infinitely long list. But it has caught my curiosity. I will surely end up spending time on it.” He chuckled. He wondered if Jeremy would be reluctant to part with the pearl he had given him, or if maybe Lord Sable had some in storage.

~*~

 Jeremy sighed loudly atop his horse.

 “Still can’t believe it, huh?” Matt overheard the sigh and looked to Jeremy next to him.

 They were back on the road and heading towards Lord Owen’s lands. A messenger had already come from Lord Garter who had been the third traitorous lord. Lord Garter’s message had him asking for mercy from the king, and willing to meet any terms Ryan required. Ryan’s terms had been harsh, but allowed Lord Garter to keep his lordship and life.

 Lord Owen had yet to send any form of communication, and as he was far closer to Lord Sable geographically than Lord Garter, this was suspicious. Ryan was determined to visit him next.

 But Ryan wasn’t riding with them. Matt and Jeremy rode with a spare horse each and a small regiment of six mounted soldiers from Lord Sable. Ryan’s mare, Wintermane, travelled with them riderless.

 “What does he honestly think we can do if Lord Owen sends out a battalion to meet us? This is his tour of the kingdom, not ours, and yet he has gone off gods know where!” Jeremy complained, and knew that his speaking so frankly of the king made the soldiers nervous. He didn’t care about their comfort; it had only been a few days ago that they had been willing to spill his blood.

 “He did, you know…” Matt rubbed his shoulder in an attempt to get rid of the dull ache that still emanated from it, “And he promised to catch up with us too.”

 “He branded us. With blood magic.” Jeremy was fine with the soldiers overhearing, “Mine still bothers me. He carved some dark mark into our skin so he would know not only where we are, but if any of our blood has been spilled. Which if he simply were with us, would be entirely unnecessary!”

 “I admit he’s eccentric, but he did say it was a harmless spell. And in all honesty if he is not with us and we find ourselves in the midst of an army once again, I’d much rather he be privy to it than oblivious.” Matt was as unhappy as Jeremy but felt it fell to him to justify the king’s actions.

 “I question his understanding of the word ‘harmless’.” Jeremy retorted, “Call me bitter, but what could he possibly have to do that is more urgent than meeting with a lord who has threatened rebellion?”

 Matt turned in his saddle to glare at Jeremy, “Do you honestly expect me to know?”

 Jeremy apologised.

 “Besides, he’s our king; we should not question his reasoning. Even if he holds a title that would ask the world to do just that, as his knights were are honour bound to do as he commands. End of conversation.” Matt continued.

 “I am not speaking treasonously, just out of frustration at our circumstances.” Jeremy wanted to be clear, “I am comfortable with his scorn; it seems to be all he holds towards us.”

 Matt laughed at that; it did indeed feel as if Ryan was tired of having them ever present at his side, “Maybe his mystery journey is intended to change that. He is no perfect companion either.”

 That made Jeremy laugh as well, “His holiday from us. We might as well make it a holiday from him as well.” He searched through a saddle bag and found a wineskin, “Let us drink to the king’s journey.”

 Matt shook his head but pulled out his own wineskin, “May we survive our journey.” He toasted.

 They both took a drink.

~*~

 The green eye swam beneath the surface of the pearl, spinning to take in its surroundings.

 Ryan held the eye of ender in his hand, shaking. He’d done it. He couldn’t believe it but he’d figured it out. He didn’t know what hour it was or how long it had taken, but he’d awoken the pearl!

 He let out a guffaw of disbelief and clutched the ender eye tightly as if he were afraid it would disappear. The key had been blaze powder all along.

 The reptilian pupil spun around to look at him in his desperate laughter. Ryan felt close to tears. He had tried so many different items, spells, and even locations in an effort to awaken it. He’d destroyed so many ender pearls in the process he worried that he’d have to give up his effort because his knights would reach Lord Owen before any progress could be made. He’d suffered many burns, shocks, and cuts to get here, and more frustration than he could have believed himself possible of enduring.

 How many endermen had he hunted down? The answer was far too many, but at least now this part of the eastern province was safer.

 He’d crawled through caverns with floors of molten rock, scaled mountains, dove to the bottom of lakes and oceans, but it was finally within the Nether that he had found the answer.

 Now all he had to do was find and activate the portal.

 The cry of a distant ghast brought him back from his reverie as he remembered where he was. The Nether was no place for a celebration. The scorched air was harsh and the heat so high that no sweat stayed on your skin.

 He quickly made his way across the gravelly red expanse, passing through fire without harm, until he saw the distant purple glow of his Nether portal.  There was a chasm between him and it, but without hesitation he launched himself into the air and cleared the massive gap.

 Flight was a useful ability. Especially in a realm that was more fire than stone.

 Ryan raced through the portal without delay and destroyed it behind himself.  Nether residents were just as capable of passing through a portal as he, and to leave one in the wilderness without supervision was irresponsible.

 He was excited at the thought of what secrets the End would hold. Even if the dragon was long dead, he was sure there would be much to find and explore.

 He bounced the eye of ender in the palm of his hand and fumbled the catch as it unexpectedly changed the direction it fell in.

 Ryan swore and managed to catch it before it hit the ground. His heart was racing; he did not want to lose this prize.

 Curious, he cautiously threw it up a few feet into the air. The ender eye acted strangely and fell towards the North instead of straight down as any other object would. Using his magic to catch it again, he tried changing the direction he was facing and tossed it again. As if being pulled by an unseen force the endereye immediately headed North.

 Was this how the eye had guided the author of the journal to the portal?

 Ready to catch it wherever it would go, Ryan launched the ender eye skyward and watched as it rocketed off northward.

 Indeed it was being guided by some kind of magic. Ryan would just have to follow and see where it led him.

 ~*~

 After their initial apprehension towards the king’s knights, the soldiers quickly made friends with Matt and Jeremy upon realizing them to be regular men. They had originally feared them to be like their king, but it was clear from how they spoke and acted that they were far less dangerous.

 “And she told me I should have been a bard instead!” Jeremy finished his story to a round of uproarious laughter.

 “One day I’ll have to hear this sweet voice of yours!” Matt commented between laughter.

 Jeremy handed off his wineskin to make another round through the soldiers. The laughter slowly died down and they were in an awkward silence once more.

 Maybe it was the wine, but one of the soldiers finally felt bold enough to ask about the king, “What kind of man can single handedly defeat an army? Over two hundred men dead within seconds; what is he?”

 “No regular man…” Matt replied, “I do not know what power he has found or what oaths he has sworn to be capable of what he does, but it is frightening.” Maybe the wine was making him too honest.

 “His current obsession is to find the First. Apparently the First fled from him and is in hiding – which sounds ridiculous – until you witness just what power the king has under his command. Claims he will be the one to kill the First.” Jeremy informed them.

 “I’d say he was an absolute lunatic but he is far too rational, and knows how to run a kingdom effectively.” A soldier voiced his opinion.

 “But he is mad; no sane individual would do half of what he has done!” Another commented.

 A female soldier spoke up, “Cruelty and a thirst for power does not a mad man make.”

 “Either way, he’s definitely off.” There were murmurs of agreement with that comment.

 Matt took another drink of wine, “Not to be the one to defend the Mad King, but he’s not all cruel. In fact that’s why I think he has the title of mad in the first place. If he were simply cruel like the Red King was, he’d be predictable. People would understand what to expect of him.”

 Jeremy nodded at that, “You’re right. It’s almost as if when there’s an audience he is merciless, but without witnesses he is merciful. His ability to switch between kind and cruel confuses people, because surely the man who saved your life wouldn’t then take it shortly afterwards? But he is capable of just that.”

 “Maybe someone should tell him to be kind when he has an audience.” A soldier snorted, “Get himself a kinder title.”

 “Do you think it’s an act? His cruelty?” A soldier mused.

 “Doubt it. Doubt it greatly.” Jeremy drank more wine, “He enjoys it far too much.” He seemed to think things over, “He feels too honest.”

 Matt looked at Jeremy with a brow raised, “You are aware of his reputation as a manipulative deceiver and liar, aren’t you?”

 “Our king is a most honourable man, Sir Matt.” Jeremy raised his wine, “He holds no secrets.” He couldn’t keep his face straight and soon the whole group was laughing again.

 The road exited the lightly wooded area and entered farm fields. Tall bushes on either side of the road acted as barriers against horses that might wish to nibble on crops.

 “He has sold his soul to some dark and dangerous demons. Shadows must fill his mind.” One soldier muttered more to themselves than anyone else.

 That got a chuckle from the soldier next to them, “If he isn’t one himself.”

 “Or a vessel for some dark god.” Another added.

 “Alright, alright!” Jeremy waved his arm to hush them, “He is our king, and I have had enough of this treasonous chatter.”

 “He may also return at any time and without warning.” Matt warned, “I doubt he would take kindly to such a topic of conversation among his men.”

 “That too.” Jeremy agreed, “One last toast to our king’s health and then we go about finding a place for the night.” He raised his wineskin.

 Matt and the soldiers matched his toast, “All hail King Ryan!”

 One soldier fell from his horse mid-toast.

 There was further laughter and Jeremy turned to look, “You drunk bastard, get-” his eyes widened and the laughter abruptly stopped.

 An arrow was in the fallen soldier’s neck.

 Weapons were immediately drawn and they searched for the direction of attack.

 “The field to the south!” A soldier cried as a full volley of arrows flew towards them.

 Matt was quick to summon a wall of flame, igniting all the growth that their attackers could be using as cover and incinerating the arrows.

 A good thirty men then charged forward from the thick bushes to their north, catching them by surprise.

 Cries of “Ambush!” were screamed but all warning was futile. They were greatly outnumbered, unable to flee, and forced to offer surrender.

 “We are the king’s men! To kill us would be great folly!” Matt shouted, but it seemed that their attackers were deaf to his words.

 The knights were knocked from their horses, and although they fought, it was futile.

 Jeremy saw Matt be struck across the jaw and fall to the ground, just in time for his own legs to be kicked out from under him. A heavy blow to his head then turned the world black.

 ~*~

 Matt awoke in darkness with steel biting into his wrists and ankles. It was cold and damp, and he was lying on stone. His chains rattled as he pushed himself into a sitting position.

 He opened the palm of his hand and a small red flame ignited above it. Squinting he used it to take in his surroundings.

 It was indeed a prison cell. A fairly large one at that, but he seemed to be the only occupant.

 “Jeremy?” He quietly called out.

 No answer.

 He saw light flicker outside the bars set in his cell door, and immediately extinguished his own.

 Armoured boots marched down the hallway and the light of their torches became brighter.

 “What do you mean he’s not the king?!” An angry voice asked, “We were told that there would be two knights, and six soldiers riding with the king. Are you to have me believe that the king himself was not with them? I find it far more likely that they lost a soldier!”

 “Captain, none bore the king’s crest-” a subordinate answered but was cut off.

 “The Mad King is clever! He would not travel in such a small party if he planned to make his title known. One of them is the king, and Lord Owen demands you to find out which one it is. He has plans for him.”

 “Yes, Captain. Among them was a caster who conjured a monstrous wall of flame against the archers, if any are the king, then it is him.”

 Matt knew that they meant him. He didn’t know what he should do. Would it be best to pretend he was still unconscious? His options were limited, and he did not know what Lord Owen had in mind for the king. Could he potentially fool them into believing that he was indeed Ryan? Would his reputation alone be enough to stay their blades? The problem was he didn’t have the power to back up such a claim. Not to mention he was unable to break these chains and something told him those would be no more than a nuisance to the king.

 “He’s in this cell.”

 Matt decided that his best option was honesty as he heard the heavy lock on his door open.

 The two guards came into his cell. Matt covered his eyes against the harsh torchlight; his little red flame had been much gentler in the dark.

 “You. Lord Owen wishes to ask you some questions.” Matt recognized the voice as the captain. It belonged to a very tired looking middle aged man.

 The lower ranked guard came forward to detach Matt’s shackles from the dungeon wall and the captain spoke again, “You try anything funny – any magic at all – and my blade will go through your belly.” He warned.

 Matt let himself be led out without protest. He didn’t know what he should do. If they thought he was the king, there was no telling what they would do to him. He would have to be on his best behaviour.

 They led him through the claustrophobic and damp underground, only further disorienting him. He had no idea which way would lead to freedom, but tried to do his best to remember the path they were taking him down.

 His hope was quickly shattered when they approached the stairway and instead of heading up, they went  further down.

 “Are you not taking me to Lord Owen?” Matt broke his silence.

 “Quiet!” The guard ordered and pushed him forward.

 The tunnel widened and the stone was more elegantly carved and set with care. They began to pass alcoves with carved marble statues of knights and nobles.

 They were taking him through the catacombs. How convenient for when they finally decided to kill him, he thought.

 They turned to approach a heavy wooden door set back in an archway that was almost invisible in the gloom.

 The captain opened it and pushed Matt through.

 Matt almost tripped over his shackles and when he looked up he had to swallow down a yelp of fear. The chamber was eight sided with arches supporting the ceiling. Sitting in alcoves along the wall, on grim statues, and on wrought iron holders was a multitude of candles. They illuminated the room with shifting and flickering shadows that tricked the eye into thinking that there was movement in every dark corner.

 In the middle was a large solid granite slab covered with carved runes, candles, and bones. Around its top edge was carved a groove that Matt knew was used to drain away liquid.

 He was very certain that that liquid was almost always blood. Matt may have been expelled from the academy but it had been in his final year; he knew enough to recognize a necromantic altar when he saw one.

 Standing behind the altar was a figure clothed and cloaked entirely in black. His garb was fine and decorated with trimmings of grey fur and silver accents that glinted in the candle light. His heavy hood was down off of his head revealing wavy brown hair and a pale face that examined Matt with scrutiny.

 The captain and guard bowed then left.

 The black clothed man continued to stare at Matt in silence, and Matt felt the man’s magic cautiously sizing him up.

 Matt used his own magic to push his away when he felt it got too close and the man’s green eyes showed amusement.

 “The Mad King… I expected you to be a more intimidating figure; but I guess a skilled wielder of fire would frighten most.” The man spoke quietly, but clearly.

 “I am Sir Matt Bragg, knight to King Ryan.” Matt corrected him.

 “Possibly, or maybe you are too proud to admit you were bested, your Highness.” The man leaned forward on the altar, “Lord Sable and Lord Garter, I always knew to be weak; cowards. I am not surprised they fell to you so easily.”

 “Lord Owen.” Matt bowed, “I am not the king, nor do I presume to be; we were travelling without him.”

 Lord Owen straightened and crossed his arms revealing his sword. Its pommel was topped with a silver skull, “I will humour you for now. So tell me then, Sir, why would a royal party travel without royalty?”

 “I wish I could tell you – I wish I knew. His Highness ordered us to continue our journey without him while he had business to attend to elsewhere.” Matt tried to explain.

 Lord Owen laughed at that, it was a harsh and cruel laughter, “At least respect me enough to spin a proper tale!”

 “I swear it is the truth!” Matt protested.

 “Indeed.” He chuckled.

 Matt didn’t know what to say to convince him and ended up just blurting out, “And necromancy is illegal!”

 Again a chuckle, “And what punishment shall you make me serve?”

 “I am not the king!” Matt shouted and rattled his chains in frustration, “King Ryan will have your head!” He was sure that Ryan would do far worse, but didn’t want to think about it.

 “I’ll have the dead decide whether you speak the truth, and then they will seal your fate. The Mad King has killed many innocent souls and they are all eager to pay him his due. If only you knew their anger, their wrath!” Lord Owen extended his arms, “So many voices screaming for a chance to tear your flesh and rend your soul!”

 Matt was terrified; he didn’t know much about necromancy and hoped that the dead would be capable of recognising that he wasn’t the one to have killed them. Then again, one of the main reasons necromancy was illegal in the first place was that summoned vengeful dead were near impossible to control. He himself had killed people as well; what if the ritual summoned them instead? He prayed it wouldn’t happen.

 Seven hooded figures dressed in black seemingly materialized from the shadows at the edges of the room.  On their faces they wore skeletal masks made of real human bone.

 They surrounded Matt, “Get away!” he screamed and summoned bright red flame around himself.

 Lord Owen and his seven casters quickly smothered his fire with their combined magic. Even when Mat tried using the existing flames of the candles to defend himself they were able to extinguish it before it could cause any real harm.

 That didn’t stop Matt from trying. He threw everything he had at them in an attempt to at least push them back. When it was clear that the eight of them were combining their magic to effectively act as one, Matt knew he was out matched and threw himself at the nearest figure with his fists ready to land blows regardless of the presence of chains.

 In an instant it felt as if all his strength disappeared, “What?” He gasped. How had they done that?

 Their hands reached out to grab him and they led him towards the altar in front of Lord Owen. Matt didn’t stop his fight but his movements were weak and he was easily put on the altar. They attached his shackles to metal brackets embedded in the altar to keep him from moving.

 This is it, Matt thought, this is the end.

 “Release me!” He shouted to deaf ears as they started reciting in the ancient tongue. Matt could understand almost every word and he did not like what he was hearing, “I’m just a knight!”

 Lord Owen lifted a ceremonial blade before using it to slice open Matt’s thin cotton shirt and reveal his bare chest.

 “Oh gods…” Matt pleaded. They were going to cut out his heart weren’t they? Necromancers always went for the heart.

 Lord Owen switched to another ceremonial blade, and this one he pressed to the skin of Matt’s chest until blood welled up.

 Matt made noises of discomfort and pain, but Lord Owen did not care. He drew his knife across Matt’s chest carving an eight pointed star and some additional necromantic symbols at its points.

 Matt was far from silent in his protest and one of the hooded figures put their hand over his mouth to muffle him.

 Their incantation ended and they began a chant in unison.

 An icy mist began to fill the room. It created an ethereal silvery glow, and when it reached the candles, they extinguished.

 Quickly they were left in a bone chillingly cold chamber illuminated ever so faintly by this growing fog.

 Matt tried to exclaim when he began to see figures forming and shifting within the fog. Many disappeared quickly, but some remained long enough that Matt could see their features begin to form. They appeared in a constant state of flux, shimmering, immaterial, and nearly formless.

 The chant died off, and the hooded figures stood in silence.

 More of these figures began to arrive; or that’s how Matt understood it. Some would pass by offering him no more than a glance before disappearing again, but the number of those who remained was steadily growing. They were gathering a crowd, and that crowd was beginning to whisper.

 Matt was unable to make out what the words were, but it was clearly speech being uttered by numerous hushed voices just on the edge of his hearing. It tickled the ears, and Matt could understand how hearing the dead could easily drive someone mad.

 Lord Owen spoke softly, but even then his voice felt far too loud. As if he were some boisterous intruder in a sacred space, “The dead reveal all; only truth may exist in this room. No lies, nothing hidden.”

 Lord Owen raised his palms upward, “You spirits were summoned here to pass judgement; so tell us, who is this man?”

 The whispers became louder and some words and snippets became clear enough to understand.

  _Conjuror…_

_…architect…_

_Flames of righteous-_

 The whispers were suddenly cut short and every voice began to wail.

 Lord Owen was immediately concerned, “He cannot harm you! See how he is bound!”

 There was an ear piercing screech and the words began anew, but this time they were being shouted vindictively and with disgust.

  _Usurper!_

_Murderer!_

_Devourer!_

_Sins beyond flesh!_

_Deceiver!_

 The words were being screamed over top of each other and repeated incessantly forcing everyone living to cover their ears.

 Matt tried to do so, but his mounted shackles did not allow him to. He was the only one to hear the authoritative shout for silence.

 It was a voice he well recognized.

 It took a moment for the necromancers to realize that the shouting had stopped, and they cautiously lowered their hands to look around.

 The fog remained, but the figures were now still. Their outlines still shifted and were far from solid, but it was clear that they were no longer moving about. All their featureless faces were staring towards the door.

 The gentle light from the fog reflected off a pair of eyes hidden in the darkness. Only the glint of silvery irises was visible as the eyes looked around.

 “What have we summoned? What manner of spirit are you?” Lord Owen was clearly frightened but appeared ready to send whatever it was back to where it came.

 Matt caught the gaze of the silvery eyes, and his chest began to burn. He bit his tongue to not utter out in pain as he saw his wounds heal.

 “Have you come to claim the Mad King’s soul?” Lord Owen had seen Matt’s wounds heal.

 “No.” Ryan’s voice simply stated, “I have come for yours, Lord Owen.”

 Matt didn’t know what kind of glamour the king was casting in order to give his eyes that effect, but it was spine chilling and effective. It left them only able to follow his gaze, and just barely make out the outline of his figure. Without the glamour, Matt figured that Ryan would be almost completely invisible in the shadows.

 Ryan approached them and his footfalls made it clear he was no spectre. The ghostly fog parted as if it did not want to be anywhere near him, keeping him mostly shrouded in darkness.

 Now that he was closer his silhouette was more solid and faint reflections from his armour were visible. Ryan was no longer in his light travel armour. Instead he wore full war attire and heavy plate. Its styling was regal but very much practical. This armour was no show piece to flaunt status as one watched the battle below. It was very much meant to protect its wearer without hindering a kill.

 Two large horns curled up from atop the king’s head.

 Matt couldn’t tell whether the horns were further glamour or part of a helm.

 “I fear neither demon nor devil, and you will sorely regret intruding upon my ritual.” Lord Owen warned.

 Ryan could feel Lord Owen bring his magic close to himself protectively. Ryan gently ran his fingers through the air as if testing the atmosphere.

 “And I am neither. I am the king.” Ryan nearly growled the last sentence.

 Matt hoped Lord Owen could feel the anger simmering behind those words.

 “Your Highness, he believed me to be you and attempted to summon the dead to-” Matt’s hurried explanation was muffled once more before he could finish.

 “Oh? And what were you hoping these souls would do?” Ryan was clearly amused, “Kill me? Drag my soul back to their realm?”

 Lord Owen did not appreciate being treated lightly, “The angry dead have been summoned forth to rend your soul and pass judgment. If you do not fear me, then you should fear them!” he then spoke to the gathered souls, “I have promised you the Mad King and here he is! Destroy him! Make him pay for what he did to you!”

 The souls did not move, and the shimmering fog only further receded away from the king.

 Ryan gave a chuckle that was far too menacing, and drew his sword. The steel rung in the gloom and the fog dissipated as the souls fled back to their realm.

 This left the chamber in complete darkness, but far from silent. Shouts and exclamations sounded as Ryan quickly cut down the seven necromancers.

 Lord Owen was blind in the darkness and an easy target. A kick to the back of his legs and he fell to the floor. He quickly rolled to dodge any incoming attack and jumped back onto his feet using his magic to once more ignite all the candles in the room.

 Ryan watched him with amusement as he saw his fallen companions.

 Matt looked between Ryan and Lord Owen. Ryan had dropped whatever glamour he had been using, and since he wore no helm, Matt realized that the horns had been glamour as well.

 Lord Owen drew his sword, “You may cut me down, but I will only spend eternity preparing for your arrival.”

 Ryan raised an eyebrow, “I am quite confident you will not.”  He looked the lord over and then gestured at the room, “An admirable setup you have created here. Mind if I give a try?”

 Lord Owen charged Ryan with his sword raised. The king would not be able to cast anything if he had no head.

 Ryan magically deflected the attack without raising his sword; throwing Lord Owen across the room and making him lose his weapon.

 Ryan sheathed his blade as Lord Owen regained his footing. The king pulled out a dagger, removed a gauntlet, and drew blood from his hand, ensuring it dripped onto the runes carved into the stone floor. The small drop was thirstily drawn in by the necromantic symbols, and spread to fill all the runes across the floor.

 Lord Owen did not know which ritual the king intended to perform, but he was intent to stop it. He crouched and slapped his hands onto the floor causing the stonework to crack and shatter outwards, breaking many of the symbols and runes.

 “Don’t do that.” Ryan scolded and used his magic to simultaneously lift Lord Owen into the air where he could not touch anything and repair the cracked stone. He easily resumed the ritual from where he had been interrupted. If only Lord Owen had not panicked, he could have waited until a critical moment during the ritual to break the runes causing Ryan’s magic to backfire and seriously harm him. Ryan was thankful he hadn’t and he wondered: was he getting reckless?

 “Sir Matt, I will require the use of that altar.” Ryan turned to Matt.

 Matt’s shackles shattered and he happily vacated the altar, moving away to the edge of the room with his back to the wall.

 Ryan approached the altar and reopened the cut on his hand as it had ceased bleeding. He tossed his gauntlet to Matt.

 He began the incantation. Every few sentences he would place his hand above a candle on the altar and make his wound drip blood into the hot wax. When blood hit wax, the flame of that particular candle turned a dark crimson.

 Lord Owen now knew what ritual Ryan was planning to perform and began shouting, “You will not succeed! I will not allow it!” He tried to keep shouting at the king in an attempt to trip him up, “If you believe it shall work you are a fool!”

 Ryan did his best to ignore him and dripped his blood into the last candle. As its flame turned crimson so did the flames of every other candle in the chamber. He wanted to heal the now raw wound, but the ritual required he remain injured. It seemed needless but in these kinds of things – especially with necromancy – every little detail mattered.

 “You will never get my blood!” Lord Owen was ready for Ryan to attempt the next step.

 Lord Owen’s defense when Ryan’s magic lashed out was the equivalent of attempting to slap away a punch to the face. His nose snapped loudly and blood began to pour from it freely to the floor.

 “Just got it.” Ryan taunted and was pleased by the whimpering as the lord tried to realign the cartilage in his nose.

 Lord Owen was quick to see his fate was sealed and began begging and bargaining. He apologised profusely.

 Ryan turned his head to look at Matt once again, “What say you Sir Matt? Do you trust this man? Absolve him of what he had planned to do to you and I, had he been given the chance?”

 Matt looked at Lord Owen and then back to his king. Was this a test? Did Ryan wish to see what he would decide? If he would forgive and be merciful, or punish the one who would have had him torn apart by the dead?

 “I do not.” Matt answered and was surprised how strong his voice was in this declaration.

 Ryan smiled. He gently laid his injured hand on the altar and closed his eyes.

 Lord Owen screamed and began to convulse, still suspended in the air. His hands clawed at his chest, tearing the fine fabric to reveal his skin. A burning red glow was growing in intensity beneath his ribs almost in the center of his chest.

 The glow burned like an ember and broke through his skin, exiting his body to float towards Ryan at the altar.

 Ryan opened his eyes and snatched the glow out of the air with his gauntleted hand. Lord Owen dropped to the floor with a dull thump.

 The flames of the candles in the room returned to their natural colour.

 In Ryan’s hand the object that had come from Lord Owen lost its light. Ryan presented it to Matt.

 Matt did not know what the object was but he took it and looked it over. It was about the size of a fist and a dark burgundy colour with the occasional purplish vein-like pattern across its surface. It felt faintly warm and appeared to be a well-polished stone.

 Matt jumped as Lord Owen slowly stirred on the floor, before laboriously forcing himself to stand once more.

 There was a gaping charred hole in his chest where his heart should have been.

 The knight made the connection and dropped the stone with a yelp.

 Both Ryan and Lord Owen exclaimed. Ryan nearly threw himself to the ground in order to catch the stone before it hit the floor. Lord Owen had been ready to leap forward as well.

 “Be careful!” Ryan chastised.

 “THAT’S MY SOUL!” Lord Owen screeched in horror, “Don’t hurt it!”

 Ryan straightened and held the stone tightly, “This is a heartstone. It is quite literally Lord Owen’s soul made manifest in the physical realm. Any harm to it is direct harm to his soul. Please, take care not to damage it.” He held it out to Matt once again.

 “His soul?” Matt did not want to touch it again.

 “Is this your grand scheme, Mad King? To give my soul to this fool and hope to use it against me? To control me?” Lord Owen mockingly asked.

 “I thought he was dead.” Matt took the stone once more at Ryan’s insistence. This time he was careful not to drop it, and knowing what it was only made its warmth that much more unsettling.

 Ryan made a hesitant noise, “Well technically he’s not alive…”

 “What now, _your Highness?!_ ” Lord Owen snarled, “Am I to be a compliant puppet? Do you truly believe it will work?”

 “Nah.” Ryan finally acknowledged Lord Owen, “The most unfortunate part of being a man who keeps his word is – in fact – keeping your word. You’ve been spoken for, and I plan to honour it.”

 “What?!” Lord Owen had no idea what Ryan was talking about.

 “You’ll know soon enough.” Ryan waved him away and Lord Owen disappeared into thin air.

 “What- where is he?” Matt asked his king.

 “You have lived in the Northern Province, have you not Sir Matt?” Ryan asked him, “Tell me, how suitable Lord Owen’s torn and once fine garb is for a night in the woods in early spring?”

 Matt went cold, “Not at all… But the cloak he wore would be sufficient to keep him from freezing to death.”

 “Yes, his fine fur trimmed cloak will keep him warm.” Ryan grinned, “It’s a shame he will have to choose between it and the cold.”

 Matt’s eyes widened, “Eastern wolf…” he recognized what the trim had been. Ryan had thrown Lord Owen to the wolves. Literally. And if Lord Owen did not wish to be eaten alive he would succumb to the cold instead.

 Ryan took his gauntlet back from Matt and put it on once again, but not before healing the wound on his hand. With a groan he put his arms over his head and stretched, cracking a couple joints.

 “Let’s find our way out of here and inform Lord Jeremy of his change in title.” Ryan pulled open the chamber’s door and stepped back into the catacombs.

 “Lord Jeremy?” Matt quickly followed as he conjured a flame to aid their journey.

 “Yes and you shall be his advisor.” Ryan explained, “This keep needs a Lord; so you two and your soldiers shall remain here to rule it. I will send for a royal regiment to aid you in keeping the peace, and remain here until it arrives.” He took a turn, hit a dead end, then retraced his steps and tried again, “We need to find your counterpart in the dungeons first.”

 Matt opened and closed his mouth in silent protest; what could he possibly say? He still held Lord Owen’s soul in his hands – that at least gave him a topic, “And what am I to do with this heartstone?”

 They took another wrong turn and Ryan answered him without much care, “His body will be dead soon enough, and with you having his soul he will have nothing with which to pass on. Destroy it, or keep it as a curiosity. I don’t care.” He paused and continued more seriously, “There are also many uses for a soul bound to the mortal realm… but I do not expect you to seek those uses out. Not in any threatening manner of course, I simply just believe you not to be the kind to seek them.” The king wanted to ensure that Matt knew it wasn’t a warning.

 Matt looked the heartstone over, “So this is Lord Owen then, isn’t it?”

 “Yes. With proper ritual you two could communicate, but I highly doubt he’d have anything of value to say.” Ryan finally found the stairs up to the dungeons and his relief was clear in his voice, “On that vein of reasoning; it might be worth keeping him to aid in the running of this hold, but I’d rather not give him that honour.”

 The dungeons were better lit but far more winding and maze-like than the catacombs.

 “How often have the lords of this hold had escapees, that they required their dungeons be a maze?!” Ryan exclaimed.

 Matt wanted to remark that hadn’t Ryan build a labyrinth beneath his own castle? But he felt now was not the best time.

 Instead he asked, “Where did you travel to in your absence, your Highness?”

 “The End.” Ryan informed him without ceremony.

 “The – THE End?! With the dragon?” Matt couldn’t believe that his king would have made such a journey and not treat it as something special.

 “Yes.” Ryan confirmed but wasn’t going to elaborate.

 That explained why Ryan was wearing full armour. If he had just returned from The End racing to save Matt, he would not have changed his attire.

 “And is there truly a dragon?” Matt was overflowing with curiosity.

 Ryan sighed; after reading that the dragon had been killed, encountering it had been a far from pleasant surprise. But it had worked out in the end.

 “Yes, and it has a name as well. An intelligent creature. We fought assuming that the other intended to kill. A misunderstanding.

 It spoke an archaic version of the ancient tongue, but we did eventually manage to converse in the most basic fashion. Unfortunately it was not until after we had fought and wounded the other.” His left hand went to his right arm, hesitated midway, then returned to his side. If the dragon’s fire had simply burned his flesh he would know what to do with his arm.

 “Wounded?” Matt picked up on the word.

 “I have recovered as much as I can. Do not worry about me.” Ryan waved his concern away. It wasn’t a lie; he had indeed undone much of the damage from the violet flames.

 He’d been a fool to assume that the dragon’s breath would act like natural flame, and his right arm had paid the price. Its skin was still as black as coal, but it no longer pained him and was no longer sensitive to sun and water.

 Ryan had decided to keep it hidden. It was a sign of weakness and a reminder of his arrogance.

 The black claws that now sprouted from his charred fingertips had played a role in that decision.

 “So it’s real; how on earth did you find it? What was it like?” Matt asked,

 “It wasn’t easy to find but like the Nether it required a portal. The End itself is a barren waste with a dark starless sky. It is not home to the dragon – it is the dragon’s prison.” Ryan explained. It was also swarming with endermen and Ryan now knew why all too intimately. The dragon had later explained and confirmed his theory.

 Endermen were once users of the arcane that had found themselves in The End. The great dragon’s breath scorched and twisted their bodies until they were an ashen husk kept alive by the very magic they had once wielded. They held no memories, no will, and no mind, forever cursed to wander the End.

 As for how they had returned to this realm? Each time the portal was open, endermen came through in great number as if some part of them still knew that the End was not their home.

 But Ryan was no ordinary user of the arcane and fought the dragon effectively. Until it spoke.

 His surprise that the beast was intelligent distracted him enough that the dragon was able to catch him in its flame. The conversation between them began as they continued their battle, ending when both realized that they had been reacting defensively and had assumed that the other wanted them dead.

 Then they had begun to talk.

 Ryan was returned to his realm with the aid of the dragon and a promise. That was when he had felt Matt’s blood be spilled and immediately darted off to find him.

 “Unbelievable… Did you slay the dragon?” Matt was fascinated.

 “No. I sensed your blood being spilled and came here.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either.

 “A dragon can’t be much of a challenge after defeating two hundred soldiers.” Matt tried to lighten the mood.

 Ryan abruptly stopped mid stride, “Two hundred? I killed maybe three-four dozen, fifty at most. Lord Sable’s men scattered quickly so it would appear far greater a number.”

 Matt turned to Ryan and blinked in disbelief, “Your Highness, it was a difficult count, but based on clothing and armour alone it was well over two hundred dead.” Did the king really not know?

 Ryan’s gut turned to ice, “That’s – that’s not possible… That’s too many.” It would explain how good he had felt afterwards – how good he still felt even after the exertion of his battle with the dragon. Devouring over two hundred souls… what was he? He put his hand on the stone wall to steady himself as his legs suddenly went weak.

 Matt reached out to steady Ryan, “Whoa, are you alright? Your Highness?”

 Ryan felt like he was suffocating. The narrow tunnel was pressing down on him, choking him. He had to leave, and he had to leave now. He could feel his heart in his throat.

 “What have I done??” Ryan coughed, his voice absolutely distraught, “What have I done?!”

 Matt was confused by Ryan’s reaction and immensely worried. He searched for something to say but before he could say it, Ryan was gone.

 Matt stood in the tunnel alone, staring at where Ryan had been.

 “I guess it falls to me to find Jeremy then… alone. No that’s fine, I don’t need a weapon; I’m sure the guard has been fully informed of Lord Owen’s death and won’t kill me.” Matt spoke his sarcastic thoughts aloud, “Not at all in a situation where teleportation or having someone with a sword would be appreciated.” He continued down the tunnel and turned the heartstone over in his hands, “Or you know, maybe telling me more about that ritual that would let me communicate with the one guy that probably knows his way around this place.”

~*~

 Ryan slammed his back against the stone brick of the hold’s outer wall.  He tried to calm his breathing but it felt as if he couldn’t get enough oxygen into his lungs.

 Wheezing he doubled over and considered removing his armour as it felt far too heavy. He slid down the wall until he was seated on the grassy ground.

 Placing his head in his hands he felt that he had at some point broken his glamour again. Hopefully it hadn’t been in front of Matt.

 He lifted his head and tore off his gauntlets to stare at his hands. His clawed black right hand felt foreign but he thought that maybe it most accurately represented what he had become.

 How long until his entire appearance had to be a glamour? He was no longer human; that much had become clear to him. He was a monster wasn’t he? A warning to others.

 That thought made him angry. He was no warning – he was no victim. He was a victor! He was no immortal and yet he was still alive wasn’t he? He was powerful and feared. He was respected and a legend. He was king and there was no one who could stand against him!

He took a deep breath and returned to his feet. If he could no longer be considered a man, then he would be considered more than a man. He was superior, and didn’t the weak fear the strong? He was more than anyone else could dream to be.

 Why should he hide what he had become? Why should be ashamed of what he had done?

 Did not devouring over 200 souls without even realizing it only further prove his might? It had all worked out hadn’t it? He no longer hungered and had forced the surrender of two rebellious lords. He was more in control of himself now than he had been in a long time.

 The price for power was always steep.

 Ryan made a fist with his right, the dark claws digging into his palm. He should be revered! Worshiped!

 He laughed; why not? He could embrace this! Play to his title and myth! Let the superstitious masses believe what they please!

 And anyone who would still dare to challenge him would only further satiate his hunger.

 He decided that when he returned to the capital he would dispose of his glamour. Let the world see just what manner of creature he’d become.

 But for now he had to keep up the charade.

 Several attempts later at trying to get his arm to look natural and he decided on simply wearing his gauntlet and armour. The glamour just wouldn’t look right; too uniform in colour, nails were too square, not enough pores or wrinkles, and then far too many. It was far easier to settle with what he now had and just cover it instead.

 Who would have guessed that horns and eyes were far easier to disguise than an arm? Those he hid with a simple thought.

 For good measure he undid his cloak and repositioned it to drape over his right side instead of just his back. It was an older fashion style but it would suit his needs. Donning his gauntlets once more he decided he needed to return to aid Matt and Jeremy.

 Once back inside the walls of the hold he headed towards the dungeons. He made his way just in time to meet his knights and soldiers exiting. They were looking around nervously as if unsure whether the guards were about to sound an alarm at their freedom.

 Having reclaimed their armour and weapons they bowed as Ryan approached.

 “Sir Matt tells me you intend to make me lord of this hold?” Jeremy asked as he straightened.

 “Indeed, Lord Dooley. Let us gather your people and make the announcement.” Ryan nodded.

 Jeremy bowed once more, “Your Highness, I am honoured by your decision, but I feel that there are far more suitable men and women for this role.”

 “You question your king’s judgement, Lord Dooley?” Ryan replied and had trouble hiding his smirk.

 “Of course not, your Highness!” Jeremy quickly responded. Upon seeing Ryan’s smirk he realized that Ryan was playing with him and had no intention of threatening him.

 “Then exercise your power and have your people gather in the courtyard for the announcement.” Ryan suggested.

 Jeremy turned to the soldiers with him, “Go and find everyone you can. Inform them of Lord Owen’s death, and tell them that the new lordship shall be announced at sunrise.”

 Ryan nodded in approval, “We still have a few hours until sun up. Take the time to clean yourselves of the dungeon grime. Maybe even rest.” He told Jeremy and Matt as the soldiers went off in different directions.

 “And what of you, your Highness?” Matt was curious.

 “Lord Owen was a widower and his three young children still live in these halls.” Ryan immediately noticed the worry that crossed their faces at the mention of children. He knew they feared him killing them, but the kids were far too young to have any loyalties to one king or another, “Due to their age, I expect that you allow them to remain in their home.” Their faces became relieved, “You do not need to treat them as kin, but their loyalty can guarantee the loyalty of the Owen house and its supporters for many years to come. Any children of your own – should such a time come – will take priority over the Owens.

 I will seek out their caregivers and inform them not to be concerned. We do not want these children being smuggled out and raised on tales of being wronged.”

 Matt and Jeremy nodded. They were glad the children would live, but knew what Ryan said was true. If the children were raised outside the hold and fed stories of how they had been robbed of land and title, they could become dangerous.

 “Go and take care of yourselves.” Ryan dismissed them and then headed towards the Lord’s living quarters to find the caregivers.

 When morning came the people of the hold gathered in the courtyard. Standing on a landing where they were visible, it was the king who spoke first. He announced the passing of Lord Owen due to necromantic practice, and how he was appointing the honourable knight Jeremy Dooley as new lord. He then stepped back and Jeremy came forward. Jeremy spoke of how he would rule honourably and justly, and how he looked forward to working with each resident to best resolve their concerns.

 The people appeared hesitantly optimistic by the end and willing to continue their work. It appeared that Lord Owen had not instilled much loyalty in his people.

 Even still, Ryan knew that his soldiers could not come fast enough. There was always the occasional insurgent that defied change, and to not act on their actions would only undermine Lord Dooley’s command.

 Immediately after the announcement, Jeremy, Matt, and Ryan called Lord Owen’s council to meet. The meeting took most of the day to get affairs in order. That was with most argument or protests being ended before they began by the king’s cold and judgmental gaze from the head of the table. Ryan may have been silent but it was clear he was listening carefully to every decision and comment made.

 The meeting had been mostly informational with advisors telling Jeremy the status of the hold and its finances, while Jeremey told the advisors what changes he would like made. Jeremy would occasionally look over to Ryan to see if he had any opinion on a matter, but none ever came. This left the new lord feeling like he was being tested.

 The greatest relief to the council was when Jeremy announced that necromancy would no longer be tolerated. It appeared that no one but Lord Owen and his select few practitioners were supportive of the art. It became strong common ground and further opened up the council to accept Jeremy as their lord.

 It took three days for Ryan’s requested reinforcements to arrive. They had marched from the military compound at Pakman and made great time.

 Jeremy had greeted the troops and Ryan had as well. Ryan wasn’t sure that these soldiers would be as well-disciplined as those from the central province so his greeting had been more threat than welcome.

  _I expect my soldiers to uphold the law honourably and to respect their fellows. If I hear of any who fail to follow this code of conduct I will personally take their head._

 Jeremy wasn’t sure how to feel about Ryan’s words. On one hand it would ensure him less trouble with managing the group, but he himself did not want to rule with fear nor did he want to be seen as a spy for the king.

 Two days later once everyone was settled and knew their roles Ryan decided he could return to the capital. He had been gone long enough and was tired of travel. He figured it would only be a relief to the rest of the lords he had planned to visit on his tour. Everywhere Ryan went trouble only seemed to follow.

 Jeremy held a farewell feast for Ryan that night. Knowing the king, he ensured it was no ornate or lavish affair; just fine food and atmosphere.

 Ryan was clearly pleased, and at the conclusion of the dinner he said his goodbye and disappeared. Ryan was eager to sleep in his own bed again.

 ~*~

 Ryan woke to a screaming servant that had walked into his chambers only to find him in his bed and without a glamour.

 The guard was quick to come, and Ryan was thankful that they at least knew of his _condition._ The servant was removed from his chambers and the Captain sent for.

 Jack promptly arrived and closed the door behind him so that they could speak frankly.

 “Ryan when did you return? Why did you not inform me?” Jack pulled a chair over.

 Ryan was still seated in bed in his night clothes. He felt as if he hadn’t slept for years and now that the adrenaline from being woken by screaming was gone, he felt ready to drop again.

 “Last night. I did not wish to bother you.” Ryan stretched his arms out over his head.

 “By the gods, Ryan what has happened to your arm?” Jack was instantly worried. The horns and demonic eyes had explanation, but his arm did not.

 “Oh yes. Does it match the horns well?” Ryan joked but Jack only scowled in response, “I traveled to The End and fought the dragon. This was its parting gift… of sorts.”

 The number of questions choked Jack’s throat and what finally came out was a scolding, “What would have happened if you had died?! You are the crowned regent! The kingdom needs a king!”

 “But I am fine.” Ryan argued.

 “It was selfish!” Jack told him.

 Ryan was silent and looked out the window.

 Jack sighed and shook his head, all these kings and yet they were all the same, “Look, Ryan, I can understand why you would go to then End if you managed to find a way to do so. Your curiosity is your strength but also your weakness. Just take time and think about the potential consequences of your actions. If you had died in the End, how long until it would be realized we no longer had someone on the throne? What chaos would then ensue?”

 “Have more faith in me, Jack. I do not seek death.” Ryan turned back to him.

 Jack decided to change the topic, “Do you require a healer for your arm? Does it pain you?”

 “No. I have healed it as much as possible and fear this appearance is permanent.” Ryan explained.

 “Will you be hiding it like the horns, then?” Jack asked.

 “About that,” Ryan looked his hand over, “I will no longer be disguising my true appearance.”

 “Do you believe that wise?” Jack was already fighting rumours spread by the guard.

 “The people fear me already; I have no issue giving them further reason.” Ryan answered.

 “They will call you a demon.” Jack stated.

 “They do so already.” Ryan retorted.

 Jack couldn’t argue that.

~*~

 Months passed and Jack was nearing his wit’s end. Ryan’s openness with his appearance had sent numerous ripples and then waves through the populace. Some had only benefited Ryan. Very few individuals were now willing to seek audience with him unless their problem was truly important.

 Crime had also plummeted, but Jack was not pleased by it. He knew the people were terrified that the king was somehow all-knowing and watching their every move. Many were even using the king’s name as a warning or threat against misbehaviour.

 The mythos that now surrounded Ryan rivaled Geoff’s, and many now believed Ryan to be some fantastical figure.

 Those who believed Ryan a demon or monster, Jack could tolerate. It was those who had started believing him to be more that were proving troublesome.

 A first they had been a few small underground groups, but now they were significant in number and only growing.

 Ryan wasn’t helping the matter, and even encouraged these cultists.

 Jack knew Ryan was no god.

 Yet these cultists began to worship him as a god more and more openly.

 To Jack’s horror, not only was Ryan accepting of his new title as some dark and bloodthirsty god, he was also accepting of tribute.

 Every so often a cultist would seek the king’s audience and throw themselves at his feet. They would pledge their life and soul to him.

 And then the king would devour them.

 Jack had been a fool to believe that they would cease coming. There was at least one, sometimes two, every week. And Ryan was eager to fulfill their wishes.

 A couple months of this self-sacrificial practice later and the appointed leaders of the cultists came to the king asking for permission to build him a temple.

 Ryan not only allowed it, but gave them land for the temple as well.

 That had Jack ready to quit in protest and leave the capital. Unfortunately his sense of duty towards the kingdom would not allow him to do so. He knew that to leave would have Ryan ruling without someone brave enough to challenge his decisions, and even though Jack felt as if he was mostly ignored he knew he still held influence over Ryan. Ryan valued his council, and if Jack could at least inspire Ryan to second guess his decisions, then he was successful.

 Every time Jack passed by a south facing window and saw the stones being raised for the temple, he prayed that he would be forgiven. If any gods were watching he begged for their mercy. This was hubris and blasphemy of the highest degree.

 That was if there were any gods; they were sure tolerant of Ryan’s actions.

 And where was Geoff? If anyone had the power to stop Ryan, it was him. Was he scared? Had he given up? Did he just not care for the kingdom any longer?

 Jack felt alone, and he was afraid.

 He fell into a monotonous routine in an attempt to salvage his remaining sanity and silence his conscious.

 His routine was abruptly broken one day when Ryan asked him to acquire cattle. The king required no less than a hundred cows and bulls, and land on which to breed them. Ryan ordered the creation of a large ranch to be owned by the crown for the cattle. The king would allow their milk to be sold, but not the meat. None of the cattle were to be slaughtered.

 Jack didn’t have the energy to ask what the king was planning, and busied himself in ensuring that Ryan’s request was filled.

 Not long after the ranch was fully operational, Ryan suddenly found himself a new advisor.

 Jack didn’t like him. The man was quiet and always by Ryan’s side. Jack would occasionally catch him whispering to the king and the king would whisper back, but both would fall silent in the presence of another.

 This man had appeared out of nowhere; he had no family name, no house, and no history or friends outside of the king. Jack had had him looked into and found nothing. With his brown curls and blue eyes he did bear a strange resemblance to Lord Michael, but his gaze held no warmth. The man only went by one name and it was no name that Jack had encountered before.

 His name was Kdin, and Jack did not trust him.

 Sometimes Kdin and Ryan would clearly disagree over something, and then Ryan would begin to shout at the man in the ancient tongue. Jack was always surprised how Kdin did not only stand his ground but was openly defiant. It was as if he did not fear the king and there were times that Jack worried that they would come to blows.

 Jack concluded that he must be some arrogant foreigner, and this theory was further strengthened when Kdin did eventually begin to speak to others outside of the king. It was clear he was learning the common tongue and was slowly gaining confidence in his ability to communicate. With increasing confidence he began to speak more often. He was far more comfortable in the ancient tongue, but was trying his best to learn.

 It was not unusual to find Kdin in his chamber or wandering the halls muttering long strings of words to himself seemingly testing how they sounded. When Kdin wasn’t in the castle, Jack learned he spent his time at the ranch.

 One or two cattle disappeared during each of his visits. The king didn’t seem to mind.

 Another thing Jack had eventually noticed also put him on edge. Whenever Ryan had held the throne the gardens and grounds had been lively. Full of animals. Servants always complained of mice, rats, cats, and hounds.

 But now?

 Ever since Kdin had arrived the gardens and grounds had been eerily quiet. The odd bird or squirrel would pass through, but otherwise the castle was dead. It was as if all life had fled.

 If there was one thing Jack could say he was glad of, it was that Ryan seemed satisfied with his council. Kdin had been the only addition, and he had kept everyone else. Of course the council was now warier of the king than ever. The only exception was Mica who was speaking up more often and openly voicing her opinion. Where she was gaining her bravery was a mystery, but (for the time being) she was protected by the king’s fondness for her and her work.

 One evening Jack came across Kdin wandering the halls alone and decided to take the opportunity to ask him some questions. It was unfair of him to corner Kdin like this, but Jack was beyond the point of caring. He was captain of the guard and the king’s right hand; he had every right to know more about this foreigner wandering his halls.

 “Enjoying the evening, Kdin?” Jack approached him from behind and matched his pace.

 Kdin looked Jack over with narrowed eyes in silence for a few seconds before responding, “It is fine, Captain. What do you want?”

 Even without the language barrier Kdin was very blunt with his words. He seemed not to care what he said as long as his message was clear. Unknown to Jack, this was something the king was trying to fix.

 Ryan was having considerable trouble convincing Kdin that there was more to language than communication. It contained nuance, and implications. The greatest threats were often those left unsaid, he argued. Kdin had replied that he much rather tear off someone’s limbs than have them stink up the place with fear.

 That reply had silenced the king.

 “We have never truly spoken, have we? Not outside of business, I mean.” Jack figured he might as well attempt the friendly approach.

 “No we haven’t. Should we?” Kdin asked.

 “We both stand at the king’s side; I thought it might be best if we learned more about each other. So we may better serve King Ryan.” Jack proposed.

 “There is nothing to learn, is there? I am Kdin and I serve the king. You are Captain Jack, and you serve the kingdom.”

 That distinction immediately caught Jack’s attention; Ryan was the only one he knew who made it. Jack wasn’t going to point it out, but in his mind it meant that Ryan had been confiding in Kdin.

 “It is clear the king trusts you, and his trust is not easily earned. For that very reason you intrigue me, and I wish to know what about you has so quickly won him over.” Jack explained.

 “You believe he trusts me? It is you he trusts; he lets you come and go as you please without reason. You have duties to perform, and he does not question that you will complete them.” Kdin stated.

 Jack had not expected that.

 “We have an agreement. To break it would have him send me to The End.” Kdin elaborated.

 Jack blinked, “The End? Is that what he threatens now?”

 “Here I am well fed and given gold for my service. I may miss the open sky, but I can live without it if it means I remain out of The End.” Kdin informed him. He knew Ryan would be upset if he told Jack too much.

 Jack was confused, and was going to blame it on language barrier, but it did not make sense that Ryan would keep someone in his service through threat of sending them to The End. He had hoped Kdin would answer his questions, not create even more.

 “You miss the open sky? Where are you from?” Jack hoped that Kdin would at least answer that and confirm his status as a foreigner.

 “The wind, the open space… the castle and city is so tight and close; no room to stretch out.” Kdin wanted to add that the sky had once been his, “I was born in the Fire Mountains. I do not know the name you call them.”

 “The Southern Teeth?” Jack knew there were some isolated tribes tucked away on those treacherous peaks, “I can understand why you miss open spaces then; your life must have been more sky than stone.”

 Kdin nodded pensively, “Yes. I was-” _A god_ “Well respected.”

 “What brought you to the capital, then? The King?” Jack pushed further.

 “Yes, although he is trying to find me land of my own… What he finds I either dislike, or it’s too close to settlement. We fight about it. I hate the capital; this castle; this stink. Yet he keeps me here… like some pet. I do owe him much, but I do not need him caring for me. I am not some curiosity to keep close and be entertained by.”

 Jack’s confusion was very much visible on his face by this point and he couldn’t formulate any questions to further elaborate what the hell Kdin was talking about. This had to be the language barrier, right?

 If Kdin noticed Jack’s loss of words, he didn’t care, and continued, “He speaks of enemies – those he wants dead. I can aid him, I can find them, but he keeps me here!” Anger was growing clearer in his voice, “No one would oppose me! They would all burn and the skies would be mine once more!” Kdin hesitated and looked to Jack with worry; had he said too much?

 Jack was staring at Kdin. How had Ryan possibly managed to find someone as mad as himself? It made sense now why Ryan would want to avoid having Kdin interact with the rest of the court; he seemed to be completely lacking perspective. Not to mention humility, but that was something many within the castle walls didn’t have.

 Jack concluded that Kdin was not only an oblivious foreigner the kingdom proper, but had to be some sort of caster as well. It was the only way anything he was saying made sense. It was well known that some magic users were capable of flight – the king was only one example.

 Jack finally found his words with a cough to break the silence, “So, uh. Ok.” He laughed nervously.

 Kdin looked down and away, “Do not tell Ryan that I have told you this. He does not wish my identity to be known… yet. He says there will be a time for it, but that time is not now. He fears… fear.”

 Pieces began to fall together in Jack’s mind, “You’re not human are you?”

 Kdin’s lack of an answer was proof enough.

 Jack brought the information he had together. Ryan feared that people knowing who Kdin was would cause fear. He threatened Kdin with The End, and did not wish to have him living on land near people. Kdin spoke of the sky as if it were his home.

 The ranch – the cattle disappearing with Kdin’s each visit… Was he, maybe, eating them? Now Kdin’s mention of burning enemies was prominent in Jack’s mind. Normally that wasn’t an unusual thing to say but… what if the King had not returned from The End alone? Had not Ryan said that The End was not the Dragon’s home but its prison?

 “Ryan returned and gave you your freedom.” Jack pulled himself back to the present with that realization.

 Kdin shifted his weight, “I did say too much.” He sighed.

 “But that’s not possible… you can’t be…?” Jack didn’t want to use the word ‘dragon’, “But you look norm- human.”

 “A trick of mine I’ve had for a very long time. Survival.” Kdin cautiously smiled, “Would be difficult to live within the castle otherwise.”

 Jack inhaled, held it, and then exhaled loudly, “I need to talk to Ryan. Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes Ryan is getting OP, but no worries he will still fall come the next LP, I have it figured out. SO in the meantime, enjoy the Dark God coming into his power.


End file.
